


Another Version of the Truth

by Fushichou



Category: the GazettE
Genre: AU, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-27
Updated: 2019-04-28
Packaged: 2020-02-07 09:37:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 23,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18617977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fushichou/pseuds/Fushichou
Summary: When the line between fame and reality blurs, you have to swim hard to stay afloat.





	1. The Concert

Ruki gazed out upon the cheering masses, their upturned faces bright with excitement, their screams directed at him and him only.  He lived for the attention. _Lived_ for it.  From his position high up on the stage, he nodded his approval that every one of the 1000 strong crowd were wearing T-shirts with _Douchoutosetsu_ , their band name, emblazoned across the front.  The logo that Ruki himself had nurtured and brought into being almost as a living, breathing thing.  The name wielded a tangible power over the live house that night.  He raised his right arm up, high above his head and twizzled the drum stick in his fingers.

“Are you ready?”  Frenzied screams of “YES” came right back at him.

“I said…. Are you _ready_?!”  He brought the drumstick down to his lips and licked the full length of it and slowly, dangerously slowly sucked the tip before launching it out towards the crowd. And somehow, from somewhere deep within them, near maddened by his lewd teasing, they answered louder this time.

“Are you fucking READY Shibuya?!!”  Grabbing another stick, he beat the snare drum, counting himself in “One, two, three, four…” and then launched into a rolling, raucous, self-indulgent solo.  The stage his for the 90 seconds before Reita would join him, running on from stage left and jumping smoothly up to his drum riser in one swift movement.

Ruki grinned widely at the bassist through his cymbals and mouthed a brief count-in, allowing the bass guitar to join with the drums in a rhythmic melody that quickly had every one of the audience clapping and punching the air in time.

They played together like this for a minute, maybe two before Aoi and Uruha joined them from either side of the stage, Aoi noisily announcing himself with a long ”G”-string dive-bomb, picking the harmonics out with practiced ease.

The screaming ramped up an octave at their arrival, then another octave when the vocalist walked slowly back out in front of the band, returning to his place in the centre of the small stage.

A nod from Ruki and they closed the instrumental, with one… two… three… power chords backed by now frantic screaming.

 

Two more songs, and the concert was over; Ruki jumped down from behind his drum kit and walked over to the front of the stage.  As provocatively as he could, he did the same gesture as before, slowly running his tongue the full length of one of his spare drum sticks before throwing it out as hard as he could to the crowd. 

Pleased at the small scuffle it’s landing in the sea of outstretched hands caused he did the same again, this time sucking the tip of the stick for a brief moment before aiming a little further back into the hall.  Another direct hit on five pairs of hands, desperate to grab the slender wooden stick with his two kanji branded into the end. 流鬼.

Reita joined him, lazily slinging his arm around the drummer’s shoulders.  His bass was gone – discarded on the floor – and now he used those fingers sore from two hours of playing to pull at Ruki’s heavily coiffed and back-combed hair.  Ruki lived for these moments, he loved nothing more than being close to Reita and if it was with an audience of a few hundred screaming girls he was even happier.

Ruki held his last drum stick up to Reita’s face, and winked at him slyly.  They both turned and simultaneously licked the drumstick, their tongues touching for a brief second before Ruki slung it at the now desperate audience.

 

Backstage; the soft hum of the air-conditioning audible now that the braying crowds had left from out front.  Reita sat with his legs widely spread on one sofa, staring blankly into the middle distance and running through the complete set that they’d just performed in his mind’s eye.  The performance had been reasonably flawless, there hadn’t been any technical issues and only a couple of improvements came to mind.  He closed his eyes, as his internal review finally arrived appreciatively on the almost-kiss with the drummer after the encore.  They hadn’t ever explicitly discussed bringing their personal lives onto the stage in that way, but for Reita it was easier to just let it happen than it was to call a halt to it.  The drummer had pursued him relentlessly for months during his senior year at high-school; Reita had put it down to an over enthusiastic _kouhai_ complex until the day he’d found himself daydreaming about the younger man’s lips – much as he was at that precise moment.

_Ruki………._

 

Ruki collapsed onto the other sofa and dropped the damp towel from his shower on the floor next to him.  The sweat of 2 hours of drumming now gone, along with the hairspray and makeup that made him RUKI.  He was now just a 26-year-old guy with damp blonde hair and the same T-shirt as the crowd had been wearing earlier.  He pulled a large plastic box with his name on towards him.  Reita didn’t say anything, continuing to watch him from under nearly closed eyelids. 

Amongst countless letters and cards, there were seven or eight high-end gift bags and Ruki reached for the first one.  Aftershave: Bvlgari, his favourite.  He sprayed a quick spritz on his wrist and went on to the next gift.  Inside was a chunky silver bracelet; the next a black leather wallet with ten one-man-yen bills tucked inside. He looked over the cards attached, recognising the names and letting the memories of various encounters that went with those names wash over him.

The last bag was smaller, with a small leather box inside.  Ruki smiled to himself as he opened it for he recognised it immediately.  Every time they played in or around Tokyo the same present would arrive for him.  He knew that when he opened the box inside would be a hotel room key, and he knew that the girl who would be in the hotel room was his favourite admirer, and not only was she cute, she was rich as hell.

“Kanna?”  Unmoving, Reita opened his eyes fully. The sweet teenage memories from a moment ago immediately replaced with some not so sweet ones from earlier that year.  He reached over for his own box, it too had plenty of bags and letters but none of them given for the same reason as Ruki’s.

“Yeah, of course.  I’m going to let her to take me shopping, buy me some new clothes and then I’ll… You know”

“Oh, I know,” he said quietly, opening the first of his own letters, skimming the contents.  “What’s the price these days for a new wardrobe, Ruki?”

“I’m writing her a song.  And I guess we’ll have sex.”

Reita sighed silently.  He’d given up entertaining the fans privately in that way a few years before, the other band members too.  It was only Ruki who was still seemed tempted by shiny new jewellery and new clothes and new shoes and who still had his favourites who came to all their concerts.  They were the girls who paid for his nails and his hair, the girls who clothed and perfumed him and the girls who just sent cash.  He would meet up with all of them and sleep with some of them, happy to pimp himself out if the price was right.

“Why do you still fuck those girls Taka? Don’t you think it’s time to move on from all _that_?  We’re signed major now, maybe it’s time to be a bit more… professional?”  He put his stack of fan-letters to one side and reached for his cigarettes, “It’s not like we need _that_ kind of support any more.  The label buys the costumes and the kit, and we’ve all had our advance…”

Ruki pushed the box to one side and got up as if to walk away, but he didn’t and in a moment was in front of Reita, pinning him against the sofa.  He grabbed one of the bassist’s wrists in each hand and leaned forwards, dangerously close. 

“Are you… _jealous,_ Akira?  Does the thought of me fucking that girl bother you?”

“No…” Reita held his breath for what seemed like a lifetime. The mix of Ruki’s new cologne and freshly washed hair was too much for him.  The “no” was a complete lie. He was jealous as hell.

Reita glared back at the brown eyes mere centimetres from his own.  “No, I am not jealous. Is _she_ jealous of all the other fans you sleep with?”

“She doesn’t _know_ Aki!”  He leant a little closer, his cheek against Reita’s head, his lips to Reita’s ear.  A whisper, “You know how this game works”. 

He felt a kick of adrenaline and a sudden rush of blood to his groin and Ruki immediately felt very self-conscious of how close he and the bassist were.  Their off-on relationship was currently in a major off period following Ruki inviting the aforementioned Kanna to the party held to mark them signing their major contract four months previously.  They had argued, said things that shouldn’t have been said, and Reita had ended up in bed with a waiter called Koichi that night.  Knowing that Reita had been with another guy had cut Ruki deeply, right down to his core.  Right down to his messed up, confused, broken heart that had only ever beat for Reita.

The closeness was near suffocating and Ruki could take no more.  He made to get up but the moment he released Reita’s hands they were around his face, pulling him in for a desperate kiss. 

“ _Taka… I’ve missed you…”_ the bassist purred into Ruki’s lips.  Lips that parted in an instant, yearning for a deeper connection.  He felt Reita’s fingers twisting in his hair and was about to drop into lap when a voice interrupted them.

“Guys, _please…”_ Yune walked into the room, without a care for what he had just walked into.

Ruki turned around and glared at their singer as he moved Reita’s hands from the back of his head.  He held them both in his own and squeezed ever-so tenderly before letting go.  His dislike for their vocalist had really started to grow deeper since they’d signed this new contact.  Yune had taken “major” majorly seriously.  He was wearing a suit jacket – no shirt, but a waistcoat underneath.  His previously long, vibrant orange hair had been trimmed shorter and dyed dark brown.   

Yune had changed his image 360 degrees from where the band used to be, where Ruki had always been and was quite happy to stay.  Visual kei was safe, he understood the rules there.  He could hide behind lace masks and hair extensions and heavy makeup.  Visual kei embraced his queer side, it didn’t care if he was gay or straight, the fans certainly didn’t care either way.  Visual kei was where Ruki felt safe with Reita; two “freaks” together maybe? He didn’t know.  What he did know though was that his confidence to be intimate with Reita rose exponentially if he was “the drummer” rather than just “himself”.

Yune sighed, inhaling deeply on his cigarette. He let the smoke seep lazily out of the corner of his mouth as he rubbed the back of his neck with a small white towel.  “Do what you want in private, I couldn’t care less. But major label bands do not do fanservice and do not openly fuck each other.”  He sat down across from them both, stubbing his cigarette out in the ashtray on the table between them. 

“Grow up”.


	2. The Photoshoot

Japan 2010

Ruki ran his thumb over the characters to spell out their band name “NA-ZO-NA-ZO”, and waited impatiently for the _Kitsune_ message board to show the list of message threads about him and his 2 band mates.  The page loaded, there hadn’t been an update on any of the threads in 10 hours.  He sighed, exasperated that they seemed to have fallen out of the online gossip column for nearly half a day.

Pushing his dark red sunglasses a little further up his nose, he stared up at the building that loomed up in front of him.  He used to love photoshoots; spending hours with his bandmates, directing them, guiding them in how to show the best possible way to present Douchoutosetsu’s  all-important visuals.  The hours spent reviewing and selecting just the _right_ photos of the band, of himself, of Reita…

He pressed the UP button on the building’s elevator.  He was late, really late – gonna-get-in-serious-trouble-late.  The elevator doors slid open with a smooth hiss, “Ugh… _Mirrors…_ ” he growled at the bottom of his voice, purposely ignoring the dishevelled face staring back at him.  Running one hand through his wavy brown hair, it felt dirty from a night spent without sleeping, he leant against the mirror holding his reflection.  He needed a shower, and a shave…

The doors opened and he braced himself for the sure to come onslaught, “Good mo……”

“Ruki! What the hell kind of time do you call this?” 

Reo, NazoNazo’s leader stumbled down off the podium from where he was having his photo taken. He was a tall guy, 180cm in bare feet and at least 190cm in the skyscraper boots he was wearing as part of the photoshoot’s styling.  He towered over Ruki, which normally did not bother the drummer in the slightest but right now – he was feeling tired and vulnerable.  The shoot’s call time had been 6.30am and at 6.30am that morning Ruki had stumbled out of Club SK 50% asleep and 100% drunk. 

“Sorry…” he started his usual apology, bowing his head slightly.

“You’re 90 minutes late and you look like shit,” he grabbed Ruki by the arm and pulled him forcefully enough to nearly lose his balance on those boots.  Dragging the non-protesting, non-speaking drummer across the studio towards the small bathroom; when Reo finally released his arm Ruki slumped against the wall trying unsuccessfully to put his now folded sunglasses into the top pocket of his suit jacket.

“SK?”  Kaz, their bassist vocalist also in full costume appeared behind Reo.  He had feathers attached to his eyelashes and they fluttered as he spoke.

Ruki lowered his eyes, starting to take his jacket off.  “SK…”

“You’ve got to stop, Ruki.  You’re there every night.”                                                         

“Isn’t that what the music business is meant to be all about..?  Sex, drugs and…” He dropped his jacket to the ground just as Reo grabbed him once again and pushed him into the shower cubicle. 

“… And being on time, clean and ready for hair and makeup.”  Reo slammed the door shut and turned around to face Kaz. “You know he _works_ there now, don’t you?”

Kaz shook his head slowly and said in a low voice, “Do you think he’s started gambling again?

“I don’t know. He says not but I just don’t know…”  The sound of running water.  Reo turned around and hammered on the shower cubicle door. “Hurry the fuck up, dickhead!” 

 

 

“More glitter” He looked down at the stylist’s assistant who was now helping prepare him for the day’s photoshoot. She looked up at him with a questioning glance, searching for confirmation that he did indeed want more glitter sprayed onto the crotch and thigh of his ripped black jeans. 

The bright lighting was hurting his eyes, and the noise of the light meter being held centimetres from his head was exacerbating his headache tenfold.  It was now two hours after his call time, but fortunately the  _Kitsune_  message board had come alive and the girl who he’d started his evening off with before Club SK had posted a cryptic message about him.  They had a nickname for him on there - “Dora-ki”, a mashed up combination of “ _drums_ ” and _“Ruki”_.  As if it wasn’t obvious exactly who was being gossiped about.

The gossip columns both online and off had always been there, but Ruki hadn’t cared for them when he was the lynchpin of Douchoutosetsu.  He had been close to obsessive about music and the band and he’d given them 6 years of his life – and he would have given them, _him_ , more if things had been different.  When he had parted ways with that life (he was unable to give what had happened any more thought than that, the wound was still too raw), he had found his way into a much more mainstream pastime and began to spend hours upon hours staring at little silver balls in each and every pachinko hall in a mile radius.  The noise reminded him of the screams of the crowd, the flashing lights reminiscent of Douchoutosetsu’s elaborate lighting shows.  He could be surrounded by noise yet blissfully anonymous, 24/7 at any time he needed.

After Douchoutosetsu, it had all become too much for Ruki.  As he watched Douchoutosetsu become DCT and as DCT became more and more successful stretching their fledgling wings overseas, like the very pachinko balls that were eating up all of his money, he spiralled and fell out of control.

Club SK had been there for him; it had saved him.  It let him get back in touch with old feelings that hadn’t stirred in a long time.  The gambling had stopped and he’d started drumming again. He was back to something close to his old self.  And so now, most evenings were the same, if there was a concert or an event then he would meet up with whoever sent the nicest present afterwards and get taken for drinks.  He’d flirt, give compliments and accept cash and whatever else the girl might want to give.  Then he would make his excuses and leave, to quickly arrive at Club SK.  If there wasn’t any NazoNazo related work to do, he would be at Club SK from 8pm ready and willing to play host to whichever customer picked him from the menu.

NazoNazo’s fans were always girls, Club SK’s clients were always guys.

The pachinko addiction which had dissipated nearly 3 years previously was replaced by a fleeting reprisal of his enthusiasm for VK band activities.  Fleeting it had been though as his activities at the club had quickly made sure they were first and foremost in his mind; within 6 months he had settled into a life where he rarely wrote songs or practiced drumming.  He hardly drew other than on napkins or as part of a drinking game.  He tolerated Reo and at a push would say that he liked Kaz but he really had little actual interest in the band other than the ego-boost he got from his rapidly diminishing fanbase. 

Visual Kei had moved on, social media had seen to that – there was more expectation from the fans for bandmen to share _so much_ more online.  Twitter, Mixi, Ameba – but Ruki had never felt comfortable sharing what was behind the makeup and the fans? Oh those girls were fickle!  If he didn’t post a selfie in 48 hours they would turn on him without a care – and now it was for the whole world to see, not just _Kitsune’s_ forum users.  He didn’t want to share his real life with _them_ , he had always liked the mask VK provided him to express his deepest feelings and darkest thoughts without really showing anything of himself who, at the heart of it all, was a lost soul desperate for a real connection with _anyone_ that was somewhere close to how he had felt about Reita.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ruki's "More glitter" comment - written for a friend x


	3. The Young Politician

It had been a slow night, Ruki stared at the small cashbox placed on the bar in front of him frowning slightly as it contained just three 10,000 yen notes.  His target for each day was 50,000 _minimum_ , so tonight didn’t look like it was going to quite cut it.  He closed the box and handed it back to Shun (the barman on shift that night).  After the argument with Reo at the photoshoot that morning, Ruki had been sullen all day and spent much of it laying on his futon, messaging his latest rich, over enthusiastic fan.  Most days he was seconds away from quitting the band, and if it wasn’t for the trash gossip on _Kitsune_ about what he might or might not have done and with whom, he probably would. That is if Reo didn’t throw him out first…

He turned around and leant back onto the bar, casting his eye over the groups already being entertained – all regulars but none of them _his_ regulars.  He hadn’t even been picked to help at a table…

“Fuck…” he murmured to himself as for a split second, the reason – the _real_ reason why he was at Club SK hosting drinking parties for Tokyo’s men, came to mind.  At that moment as if to drag him back into the present and away from his past, the lift doors opened and a new face stepped hesitantly into the club.  Although he was previously unknown in Club SK, he was most certainly known to Ruki – Sato Daichi, 30 years old and District 10’s youngest member of the House of Representatives in history who had entered the House following the previous summer’s elections.  Ruki hadn’t voted for him, in fact Ruki hadn’t ever voted nor cared much for politics. 

Politicians were well known for being over paid and over generous with it. He straightened himself up a little, checked his reflection in the nearest mirror – tonight was a long silver waistcoat over a silky white dress shirt and a skinny silver tie, his trademark skin-tight black jeans and standard black boots (5cm heel of course) and went over.

“Welcome to Club SK”, Ruki bowed deeply, suddenly feeling the presence of someone standing directly behind him.

“Welcome, Sato-san, I’m so pleased that you accepted my invitation.”

Ruki straightened from his bow but didn’t look over his shoulder.  The voice was deep and smooth, somewhere between soothing and menacing – the club’s boss, Watanabe Tomoki, “Tomu” to customers, “ _Oyassan_ ” to everyone else. 

The young politician looked even more nervous as he too straightened up from his own shallow bow.  The noticeable beads of sweat gathered on his forehead which he quickly wiped away with a small black handkerchief.  “Watanabe-san, you can assure me of the complete discretion of your… establishment?”

“Of course,” Tomu placed his hand over the left side of his chest.  Ruki was sure that the heart within was as empty and devoid of emotion as Watanabe’s right hand was devoid of its smallest finger-tip.  The boss then laid that hand on Ruki’s shoulder and pushed him forwards slightly.  “Ruki is the best in the house, he will look after your _every_ need.”

Immediately, Ruki knew that he’d been chosen for this customer, that was why he’d been practically ignored all evening he was sure.  But mercifully, the young politician was not that bad looking, he didn’t have the hardened tiredness of many of his usual customers. Tired from years of hiding their sexuality from their wives, tired from the pressure of work and tired of living up to society’s expectations of them.  Sato looked more like the kind of guy you’d see snoozing in the park at lunch time than raising motions in the Diet.  His hair was that long-ish, ruffled-on-top style of someone who wasn’t ready for a mid-40s crop, he had kind eyes and Ruki noted, enticingly full lips.  At the promise of complete discretion, aka secrecy, Sato smiled and for a split second Ruki realised he was starting to blush.  Pushing those thoughts firmly aside, he gestured for the young politician to follow him to a booth.

 

Two hours later and Ruki was drunk.  He knew he was drunk because when Daichi asked him to sing to the group, he didn’t protest.  Each of the VIP booths came with its own small karaoke system and Ruki picked up the microphone, “What do you want me to sing?”

The rest of their group began to shout out their requests as Ruki stood up in readiness.  Him singing was a rare treat as his voice was deep and alluring when he wanted it to be – usually if he thought he would get an extra cash incentive from it.

The young politician leant back comfortably, one arm stretched out against the back of the plush velvet booth.  He chose the song without hesitation, the theme from the prior year’s film of the same name: “ _Bandage – Akanishi Jin”._ Ruki took a long, slow breath and held it for as long as it took him to process the song choice.  The film had been about a young band trying to stay together when the pressure of “fame” started to hit.  It was all too close to his own history with Douchotosetsu and if this was a joke then he wasn’t amused.

“I don’t know… that song is a little…” he sat down again, holding the microphone tightly in his gloved hands. 

“No, I _insist”._ Daichi nodded at one of the others at their table, “Start it.”

Torn between the possibility of a better-than-average payday and singing a song that might have been purposely chosen to humiliate him, Ruki took his usual path and went with the money.

_“In the blue sky….”_

He kept his head bowed as he sang into the microphone, he knew the first verse and chorus to nearly every song that had been in the charts in the last 18 months so looking at the lyrics wasn’t a requirement.  Ruki hadn’t ever been confident with his voice and he’d avoided singing in either band as much as he could, absolutely ignorant of his natural talent.  Singing might just open a window into his soul, and that would not do.

Slowly raising his eyes as he sang, trying his hardest to keep the young politician in focus and fighting against the boozy insistency for his vision to swim, he purred the lyrics out as enticingly as he could.

_“Searching for new things…”_ One gloved hand was extended slowly towards Daichi who, until this moment had been nervously clasping a double shot of whiskey.  The club seemed to have grown silent (it hadn’t), it felt to him like everyone was watching (they weren’t) as the singer slid his hand across the table and up onto Daichi’s right knee.

“ _I’ll come near you…”_

He squeezed the knee and stared directly into Daichi’s eyes.  Repeating the line, subtly changing the lyric; completely changing the meaning.

“ _I’ll_ **come** _near you…”_

The young politician, his mouth suddenly very dry, swallowed the full glass of whiskey hard.  Noticeably flustered by Ruki’s hand that stayed in its spot on his knee and the karaoke song was ignored from that point on.

 

It was after 5am by the time Ruki and the last of the other hosts stumbled out of Club SK’s ground floor entrance into the bright morning sunshine.  They said their goodbyes and “well done’s” and went their separate ways.  It had ended up as a _very_ profitable night for Ruki, his meagre 30,000 had more than tripled and he had handed over 8 one-man-en bills to Tomu and pocketed the remaining 20,000 for his troubles.

He tried to work out in his head how much time 80,000 had released for him but his brain refused to cooperate and he was obliged to lean against the vending machine that stood next to the club’s doorway for a moment to collect his thoughts.  Leaning felt good, the cold metal side of the large white box felt nice against his shoulders and he let his knees give way, sinking slowly to the ground.  He could have happily stayed there, slumped in the alley, waiting for the night to reclaim her hold on the city so that he could crawl back inside the club and be loved and respected again.

Getting up was a struggle and much like a baby animal, with trepidation he found his feet and turned towards the main road where he hoped to goodness that he could find a taxi.  As he emerged from the side street and onto the main thoroughfare he was greeted, not by a taxi, but by an advertising truck showcasing “DCT vs The Islands Tour 2010.”  Unfortunately for Ruki, a taxi pulled over nearby at exactly the same time as he stuck his middle finger up unceremoniously at the band’s 10m high photograph sailing past them both. 

The driver having second thoughts about letting the dishevelled drunk young man into his pristine taxi, closed the door before it could finish opening and beat a hasty retreat leaving Ruki shouting obscenities at both him, the truck, the sunshine and the massive fuck up that was his life.


	4. The Proposal

With a long, weary sigh Ruki let himself relax deeper into the bath, the water creeping high enough to gently slosh over the rim of the tub.  He stared up at the beige wall, his eyes resting on a very faded black circle drawn on the wall.  Reita had drawn it one night, how many years it had been Ruki didn’t know, but it felt like a lifetime ago.  Long before the arguments had started, maybe even before Ruki had become so involved with his ever-eager groupies.  When they had just been friends, best friends, friends who shared a tiny bath tub in a tiny apartment and dreamt of hitting the big time. 

_“This band’s going to be our last band.”_

_“Yes. This is our future.”_

_“Think we’ll be together in 10 years?”_

_“20.”_

_Reita stands, the bath water cascading down his naked body and climbs out of the bath.  Ruki watches him leave the small bathroom for a few seconds before he jogs back into the room and slams the door closed behind himself before jumping back in the bath._

_He scrawls a circle over and over on the wall with the black marker pen he’d picked up from Ruki’s desk and completes it with a word: “G-O-L-D”._

_Turning around he throws the marker pen at Ruki, who is now close to tears laughing at his over-animated naked friend._

_“DOU – CHOU – TO – SETSU, DOU – CHOU – TO – SETSU, DOU – CHOU – TO – SETSU…”_

He rolled his head to one side.  So many times had he tried to clean that mark off the plastic bathroom wall that it was worn nearly white of colour.  He slid lower in the bath, dipping his head under the water.  A single bubble of air slipped lethargically from his nose and for a split second Ruki wondered what would happen if he breathed the bathwater in, would it hurt? Would anyone care?

The trilling of his phone snapped him out of the thought like a cracking whip.  He spluttered slightly as he sat upright, reaching for the phone balanced precariously on the shelf opposite.

“Hello?”

“Ah, Ruki. I have a business proposition for you.  Be here at ten.”  The line went dead as it was far from a request, but an outright order.

He placed the phone back on its shelf and sat silently in the bathwater contemplating the Boss’s words.  What kind of business proposition could it be?  He raked his fingers through his wet hair and feared it was some new, despicable way of paying back the millions of Yen he still owed Watanabe.

The phone rang again.  This time a female voice wasted no time in mercilessly tearing into him with a barrage of questions and accusations.

“Ruki?!  Why haven’t you messaged me?  Why are you ignoring me?”

“I uh…”

“Are you seeing someone else?”

“No… I uh…”

“Are we even still going on a date this weekend? How about the tickets you promised me?”

He knew the answer to this one – “Yes! Of course we are honey, and no, I’m not seeing anyone else…”  _THINK!!!_ Ruki’s brain screamed at him.  _REMEMBER HER FUCKING NAME YOU DICK!!_ He had no clue, they had only been out twice.  Emiko? Hanako? He stared at his phone screen, all he’d saved her number as was “BVL” as she’d bought him a bottle of his favourite aftershave.

“And the tickets?”

“Of course…” he purred, “I can put your name on the guest list”.  He mentally stepped out on a limb, “Emiko…. What was your second name?  I’ve forgotten, gorgeous….”

“EMIKO???  This is Momo!!!  I knew it!  Fuck you Ruki, you’re the worst.  You’re a has-been, a shit drummer in a shit band.  You should never have left Douchoutosetsu, you’ve been shit ever since.” she paused for a second, “And I don’t like your hair OR your tattoos”.  And with that, the phone went dead.

_A has-been…_

_Shit since you left Douchoutosetsu…_

_Shit since you left Reita…_

The momentary pause allowed old feelings to bubble up inside him.  Reita had looked so _so_ good on the advertising truck he’d had the misfortune to run into a few days before. Different, but still good.  He wasn’t Ruki’s Reita any more though, their relationship had been a lifetime ago.  For the first time in many months, he passed his thumb over the phone screen to spell out D-C-T, but as the pictures started to load Ruki couldn’t contain his emotions any longer and with a bitter cry of frustration, and longing for what was no more, he slammed his fist – phone-and-all – against the side of the bath.  The phone was jarred from his hand and as it hit the floor… it started to play DCT’s latest song.

 

That evening he had dressed in delicate, soft crushed velvet the colour of red wine, a slim fitted suit jacket and trousers that flared gently over his usual black boots.  He pushed the jacket sleeves up over his forearms, believing that the recently healed tattoo on his right wrist gave him a somewhat mysterious air as he walked purposely through the city streets towards SK.  The tattoos weren’t something he’d ever planned, it had happened almost by mistake – a chance meeting with a client who himself owned tattoo art that had hit a nerve with him.  It felt good to give some of his deepest thoughts and ideas a permanent home on his pale skin rather than inside his crowded mind.  He was calmed to know that he didn’t need to worry about those things any more if they were indelibly scoured into his arms.  Of course Watanabe had positively encouraged it, just another way to keep Ruki right where he wanted him – detached from society, dependent on the club and pulling in the customers with his good looks.

He reached the club just before ten; as he waited for the lift to descend a familiar voice behind him called his name.

“Ruki!” A hand on his shoulder and he turned slowly around, the briefest of smiles starting to tug at the corner of his mouth.

“Sato-san.  What a pleasure.”  It was the young politician, back for another salubrious evening of male company.  Ruki bowed briefly, before grasping the other’s hand and pulling him forwards.  “Coming up?”  He held the now arrived lift’s door open with his body, leaning against the heavy metal that tried unsuccessfully to slide shut, his right boot braced against the opposite side. With no hesitation, Daichi stepped into the lift and Ruki followed.

First floor

Second floor

Third floor

By the fourth floor, Daichi was obviously flustered at sharing such an enclosed space with a character so large as Ruki.  He nervously studied the floor, the ceiling, the button panel, digging his clearly balled fists deep in his pockets.

Fifth floor

“Nearly there…” Ruki leaned forwards to near breath the words against Daichi’s neck.

Sixth floor

The young politician could stand it no more and with more vigour and enthusiasm than he’d ever shown for anything political he lunged awkwardly at Ruki and kissed him square on the lips, pinning him against the wall of the elevator.

Seventh floor, the doors began to slide open.

“Welcome to…” the voices began to chime in unison.

The kiss surprised him, it was a rare customer who had the nerve to actually ask for something off-menu let alone just help himself.  Ruki liked Daichi’s boldness almost as much as he liked the feeling of being held against the cold metal wall.  The girls never took the lead; SKs clients usually were too drunk to be able to so it had been a long time since Ruki had been held with any passion and kissed with anything close to actual desire.  For a split second he was back in the practice studio, held firmly by the bassist and kissed until his whole body tingled with desire.  He raised one gloved hand to Daichi’s cheek and opened his eyes, snapping back to reality and remembering that there were three guys bowed in front of the now fully open elevator door.  The young politician was grabbed firmly by the shoulder and pushed away.

Ruki glanced to his right at his welcoming colleagues, “Good evening gents, add _that_ to his bill.”  He smiled at Daichi, desperately trying to regain some level of composure.  “Get a table, I’ll be with you in an hour”.

He strode with such cocky confidence from the elevator, that the three guys who had made the welcome greeting, the bar staff across the room and the young politician himself all stared slack-jawed with a mixture of awe, desire and disbelief as Ruki disappeared through the curtain on his way to Watanabe’s office.

 

Taking a psychological deep breath, Ruki knocked on the office door before letting himself in.  Watanabe smiled at him, beckoning him in much as a snake might do before it strikes its prey.  He gestured towards a decanter of whiskey, meaning for Ruki to pour them both a drink.  He knew the expectations of this office and did as silently requested.

“So, Ruki.  I think that you might be able to help me with a little predicament that I have.”  The boss slowly swirled the caramel liquid in his glass, cupping the heavy crystal in both hands.  “And in return I think that I might be able to help you with a little predicament of your own”.

Ruki, awkwardly shifting his weight from one foot to the other suddenly wished for something to hide behind as this audience of one was not his favourite place to be.  He wasn’t about to question anything, as he valued all of the things that Watanabe could and would take away from him.

“These are dark times, Ruki.  The world wants to change at much to quick-a pace than I believe is good for it,” he took a sip, “You know that there is a vote in the Diet in two days to change the licensing laws for clubs like ours?  Kabukicho is under threat.”

He did _not_ know this.  Ruki chose not to have anything to do with any media outside of music press and that damn cesspit of gossip – _Kitsune._ He nodded though; disagreeing or showing any level of ignorance in front of the Boss never ended well.

 

“Of course,” Watanabe stepped around the sofa and sat down, crossing his legs.  He tapped the seat next to him for Ruki to join.  “I can’t let that happen.  Club SK is too dear to me and we are too dear to our customers for anything _bad_ to happen.” 

The still yet-to-speak Ruki sat obediently next to him, finally taking too large-a mouthful of his own drink.  It made him wince, and he stifled a cough hoping it had gone unnoticed.

“Remind me,” the Boss mused, relaxing back into the corner of the sofa. “Just how much money did I lend you?”

Ruki gulped and cleared his throat, he knew the answer all too well.  “Twelve… twelve million.”  It still pained Ruki to say it out loud.  All those months of drowning in pachinko balls to forget about Reita had cost him dearly.  Watanabe had been all too keen to “help” him out and allow him to get deeper and deeper into debt with the Pachinko Hall which of course, he also was connected to.

“Yes…. That’s it. Twelve big ones.  Quite a little habit you used to have there Ruki.  Terribly addictive, isn’t it, _pachinko._  The lights, the chatter-chatter of the balls, the will they/won’t they anticipation of winning a thousand, then another thousand… winning one, losing two, winning more… losing it all.” 

This time Ruki sighed audibly, he had been in Club SK as a customer drowning his sorrows with a nameless host the first time Watanabe had offered to extend credit and like a fool Ruki had taken that offer.  It had been all too easy, the Pachinko hall would just give him tens of thousands of balls for “free”, each time chalking their cost up to his account.  It hadn’t taken Ruki long to run up the debt, and it hadn’t taken Watanabe long to encourage Ruki to work off his debt at the club.  _“You’re here so often as it is and I just know the customers would_ kill _to have you at their table for an hour.”_ The flattery had really been all it had taken for the fragile Ruki to agree that it was a good idea.  He could work off the debt and indulge in his passion for more attention and shallow affection.

It had all seemed so easy.  All the plus sides of VK with none of the pesky difficulties like writing songs and the countless hours of promoting the band/the maxi single/the tour.

“Twelve million… but you’re getting there, you’re covering the interest costs so at least it’s not getting any bigger.”  The Boss put a reassuringly threatening hand on Ruki’s knee.  “Sato Daichi.  I hear he likes you.”

Suddenly on full alert, Ruki straightened up slowly in his seat.  This was it. This was the “proposition” and wouldn’t you just know it would have something to do with someone who Ruki might actually like.

“I have asked him, many times, to help overthrow the new licencing bill but he seems a little reluctant to come to our aid.  I think…” the hand on Ruki’s knee started to tense.  “I think you can persuade him.  Will you do that for me Ruki?”  The grip was tight and strong enough now that Ruki was sure his kneecap would pop off at any moment.  The thought of doing something bad, for it would be something bad, to Daichi chilled him to the core.

“I… I uh… What do you have in mind?” he stammered, relieved that the non-refusal for now had given him his leg back.  Watanabe stood, setting his glass on the table and began to take a stroll across the office towards his desk.

“Well, Ruki you tell me.  What do you think would be sufficient to keep my club open… and write off your loan?”

His jaw dropped.  Write off the loan?!  Could it really be possible?  He swallowed the last of his whiskey, suddenly eager to get to work and talk the young politician around. He was sure he could do it, he was RUKI after all!  Who could refuse him?

“I will talk to him.  I’m sure I can…”

“Talk?!  I think you need to do more than that.”  Watanabe, now at his desk, turned around to face the wall where there was a fine display of three expertly crafted katana.  Ruki, too excited at the prospect of being freed from the crippling loan didn’t pay any attention to this.  Instead, running through in his mind of ways he could coerce Daichi into doing what he wanted.

“You are going to ruin him Ruki,” the boss took down one of the katana and turned it over appreciatively in his hands.  “If he doesn’t do what we want, you are going to end his career and publicly humiliate him.”

“Uh, wait a minute… that doesn’t seem fair does it?” 

Ruki had said the wrong thing.  The Boss, quick as a rattlesnake whipped the curved sword from its sheath and thrust it across the desk at Ruki.  The tip inches from his face, Ruki stumbled backwards dropping his empty glass, which landed with a thump on the thick carpet.  His boot-heel caught in the bottom of his velvet trousers and down he went to join the glass on the floor.  Lithely, Watanabe leapt over the desk at Ruki and pinned him down, the sword delicately grazing his Adam’s apple.

“It’s not fucking fair to close my club down.  He can stop it.  And you will make him.”  He leant closer, Ruki’s barely there breaths as he tried desperately to not move his throat in the slightest, only just registering on Watanabe’s face.  “I want photographic evidence of him fucking you.  I want faces.  Do it tonight, send me the photos and tomorrow our little political problem will be gone.”  He got up then as it if had never happened, using the razor-sharp katana as a walking stick to straighten up. “Do this and I will write off the loan and leave you with your looks… and your career.”

The boss went back to his desk to wipe the thin film of Ruki’s sweat and a the feintest trickle of blood from his blade before re-sheathing the katana.  Ruki quickly scrambled to his feet and turned for the door, the boss’s last words haunting him.  “Fuck this up Ruki and I will have my name tattooed on your face and break every last bone in your arms… and your legs. No one will want you ever again.”

The door slammed behind him and it was all Ruki could do to not vomit in front of the whole club which had quickly come to life.  As he stood there, his pulse refusing to return to a normal speed, he saw Daichi beckon him from across the room. 

An acidic sting in his throat and the whiskey he’d gulped down momentarily before arrived back in his mouth and he resigned himself to the fact that he would have to run to the toilet and heave it into a sink.


	5. Last Orders at Club SK

As he stared at himself in the small mirror in the men’s toilets, he knew there was no way he could do it.  As much as he wanted to be rid of the debt, he couldn’t ruin another man’s life.  Ruki was an idiot at times and had done more than his fair share of stupid and irresponsible things but he wasn’t nasty.   He knew he couldn’t live with himself if he carried out the Boss’s plan.  There had to be another way…  All of a sudden, being the drummer in a VK band didn’t seem like such a bad thing after all.

_Unless…_

_Unless I can talk him round and convince him to stop the bill._   Ruki stared at his own reflection for confirmation that this was a feasible idea. _So long as Watanabe gets what he wants, does it matter how it happens?_

“You can do it” he told the reflection, “You can do it.” 

“Do what?”

Ruki spun around towards the door, the young politician approached him noticeably more confident than he had been in the elevator on the way into the club.  Ruki had no concept of how much time had passed since he’d been in the club that evening, it could have been ten minutes or ten hours. Either way, the alcohol would have been flowing a torrent easily enough to loosen Daicihi’s mood and his wallet up. 

He leaned against the mirror behind Ruki’s head, awkwardly pinning him against the sink.  “When do I get to see the _other_ menu?” 

“There is no other menu!” Unsuccessfully Ruki attempted to squeeze out of the uncomfortable position.  He needed to be authoritative to get his point across, and held against the wall like a junior high school kid was not acceptable.  The wriggling and twisting Ruki only succeeded in seemingly grinding himself against the young politician, giving the exact opposite image to that which he desperately needed.

“That’s more like it…” Daichi purred.  His hand once on the mirror, now grabbing Ruki’s backside to pull him closer.  “How about you suck me here in the bathroom…”

“No!”  Ruki was starting to get annoyed now, both with Daichi’s behaviour and his own stupidity for briefly allowing himself to like this man, to think that maybe he was a little different to the usual clients.  It wasn’t enough to change his mind though.  “Sato, you _have_ to listen to me.  You have to stop the Licensing Bill.  Watanabe is going to ruin you if you don’t!”

“What rubbish,” he scoffed, “If he knows what’s good for him, he wouldn’t dare, he’s a small fish in a very large pond.  Now how about you…” he laid one hand roughly on the top of Ruki’s head and tried to push it down towards his waist, “…start doing your job.”

“You don’t UNDERSTAND!” he shouted, this was not going right.  His reflection had lied! How could he talk someone around to anything in this club other than drinking more and maybe a quick handjob under the table.

Summoning all his strength, mixed with a substantial dose of fear, Ruki pushed the young politician backwards.  He had to make distance, get the man to see him, understand the serious nature of what he needed to say.  For a split second there was a look of total panic in Daichi’s hazy eyes, and gravity came into the equation as he lost his balance and over he went on the tiled floor, his head smacking the side of the urinal with a solid crack as he went down.

“Sato?  Oh _fuck!_ ”

The young politician wasn’t knocked out, but he was moaning dramatically on the floor.  Panic, real panic now set in.  He hadn’t talked Sato around. He hadn’t carried out the boss’s order. He hadn’t stopped the Licensing Bill.  He’d just assaulted a prominent member of The Diet in the bathroom of a Host Bar in Kabukicho and he needed to get out, unseen, and fast.

In a heartbeat, he started for the door just as one of Watanabe’s men came in to see what the shouting had been about, running square into him.  “Hey… what the…?”  He grabbed Ruki by the arm, a painful vice-like grip that sent a tingle down his arm into his fingers.  “What’s going on Ruki?  _What have you done?_ ”

“Let me go!” Struggling was fruitless. The grip was unwavering and Ruki could gradually feel the pins and needles creep up his arm.  For the second time, he mustered every last scrap of force in him and punched his captor directly between the ribs and it was just enough to loosen the grip for long enough for him to slip out of his jacket and run.

Through the booths, sliding over a table, he reached the elevator door in moment and hammered the call button frantically.  He could hear shouting behind him over the music, The Boss’s voice the loudest and angriest.  There was no sign of the elevator so he charged through the door to the fire escape, taking the stairs two at a time.  It was seven floors, just seven floors.  Surely, he could make it in time?  As he rounded the last landing and jumped down the last few steps he didn’t dare look at the elevator to see just how close behind him they were.  It would be the end of him, coming out of that elevator, and he didn’t want to hang around a second longer than necessary.

Bursting out onto the city street, he took a left rather than a right and disappeared into the narrow lanes filled with tiny bars and boisterous drinkers.  Every moment or so looking over his shoulder, checking, making sure, making sure he wasn’t being followed.  He took a left, then a right, ducking down side alleys past stacks of empty beer bottles nestled regimentally in their crates waiting to be collected.

All of a sudden the bars came to and end and he was standing in the middle of a quiet back road, his chest heaving as he gasped for breath.  He bent over, resting his hands on his knees for a brief moment to gather himself when out of the corner of his eye he saw a light.  Two lights. Headlights. An approaching car and it wasn’t slowing down.

Turning on his heel he ran as fast as he could in the opposite direction from the lights.  But they kept coming, faster and faster – too fast for this narrow street, until he had nowhere to go.  Until his time was up. 

He turned instinctively and put out his right arm to brace the impact, the car hit him hard on his hip and he lost his footing and bounced up and over the bonnet.  All of the breath in him was forced out as he yelled for his life, then once again as he hit the asphalt hard landing awkwardly on his side.  He lay there in the alley, dazed, unable to will his legs to move and get him the hell away from what he was sure would end up with him dead. Or worse.

There was another splash of light, red then white.  The car was gunning for him once again, this time in reverse.  Somehow he scrambled to his feet, the pain screaming down his side from the initial impact and tried to run; the car was too fast. He was too slow.  The driver was less in control this time, and it hit him and swerved, knocking him to one side.  Ruki fell to the floor as it passed, initially terrified that they would crush him against the wall and then sickened as he watched the front wheel run over his splayed-out left arm with a sickening crunch.

And then, silence.  No screeching tyres, no roaring engines.  Just a voice, reminding him of what was to come. 

“The Boss never forgets, Ruki.  We’ll be back to finish the job when the time is right.  Enjoy your life.”

The car slowly crept backwards, turning in the side road where it had come from and then disappearing into the night with it’s glowing red brake lights now just specks in the distance.

And suddenly, it was gone.  There was no sound from the trains rumbling in and out of Shinjuku station only a few streets away, no sound from the myriad of small bars and narrow interlocked streets that he had just run down.  It was as if Tokyo was holding its breath with him, waiting for the pain to hit.

Ruki tried to move, and the pain hit him like a freight train.  It coursed through his body from the hip that had taken the initial impact, around his back and up to his neck in one direction and like fire down the back of his leg in the other.  He tentatively wiggled his toes and thankfully they responded.  He tried to push himself up but something wasn’t right, his left arm felt heavy and numb.  He looked at the arm and could do nothing to stop the nausea that washed over him.  The bone jagged and raw through the skin of his forearm, the lacerations over his hand, the tangled mess of his heavy metal rings mashed into the flesh of his fingers.  There was no way he would drum again.  His life, as he had known it, was over. 


	6. The Interview

America 2015

Reita stared up at the tented ceiling above his head and stretched his arms way up high before grabbing one elbow to put tension on his right triceps.  He’d been working out a lot more recently and his body seemed to ache nearly constantly.  He felt like he should be tired, they had only landed 5 hours previously and the trip across the country from Boston to where they were in Chicago had meant an early start. 

The tour was mostly progressing as planned, their label had signed them up with four other bands, all American, on to a summer event tour taking in 14 cities in the US over 5 weeks.  Reita was enjoying it but it was a gruelling schedule that was starting to take its toll on him the other members of DCT.  Tempers had frayed and snipey comments had started to creep in to their down time.  The bad feeling was simmering somewhere just under the surface of DCT and it only took a difficult performance or a missed cue for an argument to erupt between the five men.

“OK, shall we start?”  Their translator said something back to the interviewer and then turned to Reita and Yune who both nodded.

The interviewer, a woman in her late 20s with long red hair and tattooed roses snaking up her forearms, turned and began her introduction to the camera.

“Hey MTV, this is your girl Chloe live from backstage at the Metal Forever tour 2015 here in Chicago, Illinois!  I’m here with Yune and Reita from DCT who will be taking to the stage very soon with their trademark brand of rock from the land of the rising sun.”

She turned to face them, and the camera directed at their faces lit up with a red light.

“So, how are you guys enjoying the tour so far?”

Yune answered for them both, he had been studying English hard over the past year and relished any opportunity to use it.  “Yeah, we’re loving being back in the States and seeing all our fans over here again.”

“Since we last saw you in 2013, it’s safe to say you’ve gone through a bit of an image change on this tour.  What’s the significance of the bandanna, Reita?”

Reita recognised his name, so looked expectantly at the translator who relayed the question.  He stroked the bottom of the bandanna that he had taken to wearing over his face in the same way one might stroke a beard.  Grinning behind it – he liked the fact that his smile was hidden, he answered in Japanese.  “It’s an evolution.  I used to always cover my face on stage back home, and I felt like my performance had started to lack something in recent years since I stopped”.  He crossed his arms defensively over his chest, “So I decided to get back to being me again.”

If he hadn’t been looking at the interviewer as his answer was translated, he would have seen the vocalist roll his eyes.

“Is this your 'Wes Borland' phase?”

Reita furrowed his brows at the translator when she relayed the second question.  “Huh?”

“From Limp Bizkit. His trademark style was notably very different to that of the rest of the band.  What has the fans’ reaction been?”

Yune interjected, “We’ve gained and lost fans along the way, which is usual for any band who’ve been working together for as long as we have.  Our musical style has evolved, and so has our fanbase. Really though, our fans are more interested in the music than the aesthetics I think”.

The translator quickly relayed Yune’s answer to Reita.  _“More interested in the music…”_  Interesting how times had changed, Reita thought, at one point in the distant past he was wholly convinced that at least the first 3 rows of any concert they played were only there to see their old drummer, to stare at him, worship him.

_Ruki…_

He sighed, retreating with his thoughts for a moment as he let Yune take over the now fully English interview.

Douchoutosetsu had signed their first major label contract in 2008 and slimmed their name down to the more rest-of-the-world-friendly “DCT” the year after.  That first year had been a struggle with near constant battles between Ruki and their new management and the almost-as-constant battles between Ruki and himself.  Douchoutosetsu had formed four years previously, three school friends, the older brother of a fourth and a singer recruited from an advert in their local music shop.  They had had no official leader, but it was Ruki who wrote the lyrics, Ruki who created their visuals, Ruki who was the main influence on their image.  And Ruki liked to keep it visual.  He liked makeup and hairspray and complete perfect androgyny. He called it “Real  VK” and said it was necessary to keep the fans keen. 

“And keen fans buy CDs and merchandise, pay their fanclub subscriptions and buy concert tickets!” he had said on many occasions.  And it was this drive that had thrust the band to the top of their independent label’s rankings, making them the highest earners in the company’s history and pretty much un-touchable. 

Ruki had seen no need to change, the band’s image had been their calling card for 7 years.  But the major contract had called for toned down costumes, more natural hair and much less glitz.  Gone were the feathers, the fake blood and the crushed velvet.  Ruki had been way out of his comfort zone and the squabbles between the members were just the tip of the iceberg. 

As the band’s image changed, so did their fanbase and gradually, one by one, Ruki’s group of close fans had started to slowly drift away and with them went the perks and the lifestyle that he had become accustomed to.  The less visual they were, the less those girls cared; and the less they cared, the less they gave him.  

The final argument between the two had ended both them and Douchoutosetsu.  Reita had thrown away the deep, complicated love that he had felt for his friend with one careless sentence.

_“I just wanted to get my dick wet… Nothing more. It was always just sex, Ruki.  Just sex.”_

Ruki had quit the band citing creative differences and he and Reita hadn’t spoken in over 6 years.

 

“Fucking idiot” Reita muttered to himself, totally forgetting about where he was.  He blinked; the oblivious interviewer, the knowing translator and most of all the despairing Yune were staring at him.  He had no idea what question had just been asked but he was pretty sure he’d just answered it like a fool.

 

The interview was followed as usual by photographs.  And as was becoming more and more usual of late, the photographer was noticeably keener to snap Reita than Yune.  Arms folded, unfolded. Giving the finger, doing metal horns. From behind to show off his tiger-striped hair; up close to catch his piercing aqua contact lenses.  Reita was as he always had been – a little bit awkward, and all to keen to crack a joke to cover up his awkwardness, trying to make light of the fact that Yune just did not attract as much attention as he previously did.

All required photos having been taken, he retreated to find the rest of the band.  Their stage call wasn’t for another fifteen minutes, and when Reita returned to the green room (it was another tent, everything on this leg of the tour was tents.  Reita wasn’t sure he remembered what an actual backstage-area even looked like any more), the usual pre-show tension was replaced by an altogether more dangerous atmosphere.  And it was all because of a pair of very, _very_ short shorts. 

In 2009 it would have been uncommon to see Douchoutosetsu’s lead guitarist in anything other than bum-skimming shorts and knee-high boots or even stockings at times (which Reita had no doubtthat he used to steal from his elder sister).  It was as signature as Reita’s own face-covering, and Yune’s flame orange hair.  And now, in 2015 the shorts it seemed, were back.

Uruha was nonchalantly plucking at his guitar, legs crossed perfectly, one thigh completely on display.  The usual jeans that he had taken to wearing had now been ripped from crotch to knee, held together only by the seam like a frayed denim suspender, and exposing most of the skin underneath.  His hair was more styled than usual, and there was noticeably more makeup on his one visible eye.

Reita caught Aoi’s eye and gestured to the other guitarist, mouthing “What’s that about?”  The answer being merely a shrug and a terribly hidden smirk. 

At that moment their drummer, Kai, strode into the tent and Reita subconsciously punched him on the arm as he passed.  Kai had become something of his best friend since he joined the band; as a reason to like him, his warm and friendly disposition was only rivalled by his total commitment to the band.  He had been there for Reita on long sleepless nights of writing new material following the departure of their previous creative lead, and been a steady hand helping to guide the band in their new endeavours. 

No one had ever said that Kai was a replacement for Ruki, his style and energy were so completely different to that of their somewhat maverick former member that no comparison could be made.  Kai was a technically excellent drummer, a marvel with electronics and click-track backing and a great mediator and go-between for when tempers became enflamed as they so often did.

For all of these qualities, and for the simple fact that he enjoyed doing it, Reita deemed it only proper to tease and torment Kai as often as he could.

“Whoa….. 2005 called, they want their guitarist back!” Kai joked, “That’s a… different look for you Uruha?  You and Rei going back indies grass roots together?” 

“It’s fucking stupid!” Yune spluttered, quiet up to this point his temper finally boiled over and couldn’t stop himself, “This is a metal festival. M-E-T-A-L you idiots.  You…” he pointed to Uruha, “And you…” pointing this time at Reita, “You’re doing it all wrong!  That is not the way it is supposed to be done!”

“I don’t see the problem,” Uruha muttered.  “It’s not going to affect the way my guitar sounds, it just might give the fans a little boost.  You know, like…”

“Do not say it!”  Yune grasped at his hair, tugging the dark stands between his fingers.  “I am sick of hearing _‘how it used to be’_ and _‘in the old days’_ from all three of you constantly!  It’s 2015, for fucks sake. Grow up!”

Reita took a step towards Yune, but found Kai’s restraining hand against his chest as the drummer deftly positioned himself between the two of them.  “What is your problem, huh?” Reita glared at him from under his blonde fringe. “Why are you so dead set against _anything_ that doesn’t fit with whatever dull-ass vision you seem to have for this band?”

“I’m the one stood out there, Reita. I’m the one they’re laughing at – not you hiding in your scarf and not him on fucking display like a thousand-yen whore.”

“No one is laughing!  People are more fucking interested in us than they have been for years!”

“You’re wrong Rei, you’re wrong…” Yune glared at Reita, and Reita continued to glare straight back.  Stalemate.

A two-way radio on the table crackled into life, “DCT… 10 minutes until call time… Stand by please…”  at the same moment as the tour photographer and his assistant entered to take some pre-show snaps.  He took one look at Uruha, and his eyes visibly lit up.  It was written all over his face – FINALLY something nice to photograph in a sea of bands who all looked pretty much the same.

Uruha, being Uruha, was happy to oblige.  Having his photo taken wasn’t something that he had ever shied away from and he could turn on the "X"-factor for that camera lense in the blink of an eye.  Guitar carefully placed on its stand, he unleashed the full force of his intense stare directly at the photographer.   

The radio crackled once more, “DCT – backstage to level one please.”

The photographer finished off quickly with a few final shots with Reita, and then a few hurried group shots before they had to start filing out. 

Reita hung back, knowing that Yune would want to be last in the line.  “Hey…” he squeezed Yune’s shoulder in what he hoped was a consolidatory manner.  He didn’t want to go on stage with bad feeling, considering they more than likely would come off it with something about to erupt.

“The past was good to us, why are you so scared of it?  What does it matter if what we wear out there?  A change is as good as…”

“Please, Reita. Spare me the lecture and the bullshit.  This is America, this is where careers are made and broken, and I need to be a part of something that is going to sell.  Visual Kei died long ago; Japan doesn’t care and America has never cared!  This is _my_ dream, Reita…”

He brushed Reita’s hand aside as if it were a scrap of lint, his tone completely dismissive.  It was as if he had already checked out.

“And I won’t let _any_ of you ruin it for me.”

 


	7. The Return

Reita stared at his phone, scrolling through the list of message conversations.  Kai – a month ago; Aoi – four months, Uruha…. he hadn’t spoken to the man who he had been friends with more of his life than not, for nearly half a year.  He lay the phone face down on his chest and stared up at the ceiling of his living room, the silence of the room was tangible.  There was no need to ask himself _“where did it all go wrong?”_ because technically it hadn’t all gone wrong.  On paper, DCT were still very much a band; a band with no vocalist and on indefinite hiatus, but still a band none-the-less.

Yune had quit a mere two months after the US tour had finished and three months before the then swiftly cancelled nationwide Japan tour was meant to have started; Reita picked his phone up again briefly – it was 17th March 2017.  He quickly worked it out in his head – October 2015 to now? 17 months.  For a brief second he was distracted by the sequence of numbers: it was exactly 17 months and 3 days to today’s date - 17/03/17.  Seventeen months, three days.  14th October 2016, two weeks to the day before Kai’s 35th birthday. 

“What an asshole”, he muttered to himself.  Yune had shit upon all of them from a great height with his _“I want to work on some solo projects, I need to go in a different direction to DCT.”_ It was one breath away from “it’s not you, it’s me” and it made Reita feel sick to his stomach that the guy they’d all called “friend” could just break up something that had meant so much to so many people in a heartbeat.

They had released the obligatory Best Of album, teased at a grand finale concert but the remaining four men couldn’t bring themselves to do it.  A last live would mean the end, and although his phone was the proof of how much they’d drifted apart, Reita was not ready to just give up on DCT without a fight.  He would go down in flames before DCT was cold in its grave.

He knew exactly where the other members were: Kai had opened a studio and was producing for a couple of small bands, Aoi was doing session guitar work here and there but spending more time with his family and his fishing rods than not.  Uruha had written a saccharine sweet ballad that somehow had gotten to number one over East-Asia and was living off the royalties. 

And as for him?  He had tried many different things to keep busy.  He’d tried to write songs for other people, but writing songs had always been an intensely personal thing and to have someone who wasn’t close to him singing them somehow hadn’t felt quite right.  He’d done some clothing and jewellery collaborations which had been fun, but for someone who hadn’t ever been too comfortable speaking face to face with crowds of fans at their concerts, surprisingly he had found his home on the radio.  When he was talking to a microphone, no matter if there was one or one million people listening, he felt at ease and could chatter away for hours without a care.

He was lucky in that respect, and it was with little coincidence that the radio station which aired his show was the very same as that where his most respected, most revered _senpai_ , Jun Onose also hosted a weekly programme.  He had grown up listening to Luna Sea, and their bassist had been an inspiration and had become to be a profound and lasting influence on the young Reita.  They had finally met maybe ten years earlier – on a radio show much like the one Reita hosted himself now.  J had invited him to one of his own concerts, they’d gone out to eat after and the friendship was born.  

It was to J that his thoughts now turned.  He had been through it all himself – Luna Sea disbanding, a battle of egos, a solo career and most recently the reunion.  If there was anyone who could give him a shred of advice, some guidance on how to sort this mess out and effect some kind of reconciliation with Yune and the rest of the band, surely it had to be the older bassist.  The situation with DCT couldn’t go on any longer and he knew in his gut that it was up to him to do something about it. 

He pushed himself up off the sofa and began to pace back and forth across his apartment, movement had always helped him relax because suddenly he felt very nervous at the thought of reaching out and asking for help. 

It had to be done.  He opened his phone again and wrote the message quickly, before his brain had time to order his thumb to stop. 

_“Senpai, I need your advice on something. Could we meet up soon for a drink?”_

He quickly put the phone down on the table as if it were scorching hot and stared at it, willing it not to vibrate and announce a reply.  Why he was suddenly so anxious, he had no idea.  Was it the right thing to do?  He didn’t have a plan B to fall back on if it wasn’t.

 _buzz-buzzzzz_   

A notification.  He quickly opened the message and all of his anxieties melted away in a heartbeat.  Dear, awesome, incredible, understanding J he thought, how lucky am I to have you as a friend.

_“Of course. I am surprised it’s taken you so long to ask.”_

 

J’s choice of bars, restaurants or wherever he deemed they should meet were always eclectic. Reita himself had a go-to shortlist of four or five places where he felt comfortable enough to relax, but J didn’t care so much.  It was a curious truth that although Luna Sea had been and were a much bigger band in Japan than DCT ever had been, due to their brief period of success in America, DCT’s popularity in the mainstream media had grown more than any VK band before them.  As such, Reita got spotted and heckled for autographs and selfies more often than any of his peers.

Tonight’s choice was 'Ban Kara R' in Tokyo’s Roppongi district, a karaoke bar with a difference – there was no pre-recorded backing track here, you sang with a live band behind you.  Reita had been instructed to arrive via the “private entrance” which turned out in actuality to be the back door.  He stood outside for a brief moment, his stomach still heaving with nerves.  He was putting too much emphasis on this meeting, and he knew it; J could give him some good advice he was sure, but he certainly wasn’t going to have the answer as to how to get Yune talking to them again, let alone get them all together in a studio.

He took a deep breath and held it for a slow count of ten, releasing it over the same ten count.  It helped, he could feel his pulse begin to slow and the knot in his stomach gradually unwind enough to let him press the buzzer next to the door.  It opened and the person behind the door looked at him curiously.

“Yes?”

“Reita,” he replied.  “I’m here to meet…”

“Onose-san. Yes, yes please come in.”

The door was opened wide and Reita was ushered inside and lead through a bright corridor, into a darker corridor and finally through a curtain into the club.  J saw him whilst mid sip of beer and swallowed it quickly before standing up to greet Reita.

“What kind of weird place is this?” Reita grinned as they gave each other a brief, yet warm hug. 

“My kind of weird place, kid.” J smiled, gesturing for Reita to sit down next to him. 

The club had one main bar, a floor filled with high tables and stools and the semi-private VIP area where they sat in a semi-circular booth, the high-backed chairs hiding those inside from any prying eyes of the main crowd.  The club was pretty busy, most of the tables were full and there were two or three reasonably noisy, yet seemingly well behaved mixed groups on the far side nearest the stage.

Reita ordered a drink and smiled nervously at J.  The other stared back, an inquisitive look on his face.  He was clean shaved tonight so had no beard to hide his smirk behind.

“Cheers,” the older man clinked his glass against Reita’s and took a mouthful. “So, sounds like it all got a little fucked up there.  I heard stuff, gossip mainly, you know how this industry is.”  He relaxed back into his seat and crossed his legs widely as he lit a cigarette, offering the pack to Reita.

He shook his head, “No, no thanks. Quit again.”  A long relaxing mouthful of his own beer later, Reita felt ready to relay the whole messy story.  “He had some deep demons I think, but whatever the reason was, Yune had gotten so uncomfortable with the visual side.  He didn’t see visual bands as what he called ‘real’ bands.”

J nodded but let Reita speak, feeling in the air that Reita needed this time to get it off his chest before any advice was given.

“Things went downhill on our last US tour.  One by one we all started to bring in a little of the old DCT back into our performances and our image.  It felt really good, too.  Doing our new songs with that old flair, it was special – and in general, I think the fans liked it.”

“In general?”  J raised his eyebrows, questioning the last statement.

“Yeah,” Reita sighed, “there were a few times when we’d pull out a really old ballad or something and people would laugh, or heckle or some shit like that.”

“You’re always going to get that though, people can be assholes.” 

“True.  But he couldn’t deal with it.  And in the end, I think it just broke him.  He wanted to be this ‘rock star’ not the - now let me get this right – _‘frontman of a gang of cross-dressing losers’_ ”

J slapped his thigh with delight, “Wow… he said that?  Incredible!  Sorry, I shouldn’t laugh but seriously?  Considering his old stage costumes, the dresses and feathers and everything?”

“Yeah, complete three-sixty.”  Reita downed the rest of his drink and gestured for the waiter to bring another.  “But for all his faults, he is still a damn good singer.  He gave us our sound and made DCT what it was and I can’t imagine the band working without him.”  He raised his new glass to J’s “We would need a miracle to find someone as good. Cheers!”

 

_Across the bar, one of the members of one of the groups who were out in Roppongi that night enjoying an evening’s karaoke entertainment was being harassed into performing.  He was a reluctant singer, and had to nearly be pushed onto the stage by his friends.  Finally, after much cajoling and begging he agreed and stepped up onto the stage to pick up the microphone.  The band began to play his choice, “Shine – Luna Sea”._

The band began their next song and both men shook their heads in delight at the sound of one of Luna Sea’s songs being played.  The house band at Ban Kara had played these songs time and time again so were pretty tight and to Reita’s “What do you think?”  J replied with, “Not bad actually.”

They let the music drift off into the background and Reita continued with the current story of DCT; where the other members were, what had been said, and where he hoped they could get to in the future.”

“You’ve got to let them do their own thing, Yune too,” J mused, “Side projects can turn out to be the best thing for a band.  Let everyone go off and do their own thing for a year or two, trust me, it loses its appeal after a while!”  Reita noticed that J was starting to get distracted, staring at something just over Reita’s left shoulder.  He turned around but couldn’t see anything because of the chair.

He mouthed an unspoken ‘what?’, to which J replied “This guy is pretty good.  He’s got the whole bar eating out of his hand.”  Reita leant around the corner of his chair to see what J was seeing, the karaoke singer really did have a large group around the front of the stage clapping along to the song’s driving rhythm.

Reita shrugged, trying to figure out what it was he recognised in the dark-haired man backlit by pink neon stage lights. “Yeah.  There’s something oddly familiar about him.  Maybe he’s in a band?”

“No,” J pointed. “He’s wearing a Family Mart shirt.  They all are over in that corner, he’s just a guy.  Great voice though, he can really get those high notes.”  He turned back to the table, happy that his song was not being completely massacred by either band nor amateur vocalist.

“Give it time, kid.  A solution will present itself. Trust me.”

_The band finished and the crowd emitted rapturous applause to which the singer made a small bow and then quickly exited from the stage, handing the microphone back to the MC as he went._

_“Thank you! A huge round of applause please for…” he looked down at his clipboard, “Matsumoto-san.”_

 

Reita spun around in his chair as if he had been hit by a thousand volts of electricity, the hairs on the back of his neck stood up and he all but jumped out of his seat.  Surely… surely it couldn’t be…

Leaving his drink on the table, he left a somewhat confused J behind and began weaving his way through a now packed bar as he tried to get a glimpse of the singer.  And as so often happened when he was out in the city’s music bars within moments someone had recognised him and the ‘hey let’s take a selfie’ requests started to fly in.  Reita, not having a rude bone in his body, felt obliged to stop for everyone.  As he tried fruitlessly to move through the crowd, he saw to his despair that the convenience store group had started to leave.  He briefly caught a glimpse of the guy who had sang and before he could stop himself he shouted at the top of his lungs.

“RUKI!!”

Ruki looked up sharply at the sound of a name that he had left for dead in an alley in Kabukicho seven years earlier.  Straight into the eyes of Reita, the only person with whom he had shared a real connection, the only person who he had ever loved.  Under his breath, the three syllables slipped out from his lips as his colleagues pulled him by the arm, hustling him on to the next bar.

_RE-I-TA_

Frantically now, he pushed through the crowd with a sudden growing urgency, feeling as if he was fighting a losing battle as he lunged for the door.  There was no doubt in his mind now that it was Ruki, even though he looked completely different to the man he remembered, for the split second that their eyes had met across the packed bar time had stopped.  From the way his heart had near lept into his throat, Reita could have been 25 again bowled over in awe and desperately afraid the feelings that he had for his friend.

Reita made it outside just in time to see the last of the group get into a taxi and disappear off towards Azajuban.  He shouted the name again, hoping against hope the last of the cars would stop and the singer would jump out.  The door opened behind him with sudden loud explosion of music and J was there, a concerned hand on his shoulder.

“What’s going on, kid?  You look like you’ve seen a ghost!” 

“More than that, _Senpai_. I think I’ve just seen the miracle DCT need.”


	8. Katsu & Cigarettes

Everything was moving too slowly.  The waitress bringing his coffee was too slow; the guitarist he was waiting for was too slow; the return call from his assistant to say she had located Ruki was way too slow.  Reita’s impatience was causing him to really, deeply consider buying some cigarettes and when Uruha finally did arrive the fact that he was smoking did nothing to help the bassist.

The cement that glued the core of DCT together had always remained strong.  Uruha and Reita’s friendship was the sort that although they hadn’t spoken in months, it had only taken one phone call from Reita to muster the guitarist and bring him to this coffee shop.  Although simply dressed in jeans and a long-sleeved t-shirt, Uruha was still effortlessly elegant, a quality that Reita had always admired and been a little jealous of.  He was sure that if he was in charge of a body with such long legs and lithe arms, he would be more akin to a baby deer and not quite sure how to place his feet or hold his hands to not look ungainly.

Uruha sat down in the seat opposite and stubbed his cigarette out.  He tilted his dark glasses down slightly and looked at Reita over the top of the frame, “You’ve lost weight.”

“No, just slimmed my body fat down.  I’m actually heavier than I was,” Reita flexed his arm in mock seriousness.  “All muscle.”

“Hmm, so I see.”  Uruha ordered a coffee for himself when the waitress brought Reita’s over, and the small talk continued until Uruha had his own drink in front of him.  It was then that the questioning started.

“So, what do you want to talk about Reita?  As much as it’s great to see you, you’ve never really been one for keeping up social graces.”

Reita took a deep breath, he was working himself up and getting completely too excited about something that currently had a zero percent chance of happening.

“Two days ago, I saw Ruki singing in a bar in Roppongi.  Uruha, he was amazing. AMAZING.  With him back in the band, DCT could be unstoppable.”

“Ruki? Really?  Wow… it’s been so long.  And he wants to join the band again?” Uruha stirred his cappuccino, watching Reita closely as he turned the foam over and over with his spoon.  “What did he say?  You and he didn’t part on the best of terms…”

“Well, I didn’t exactly speak to him.  But I will!  I had Ana call the club to find out where his group were from.”

“Group?” Uruha sipped his coffee, “He’s in a band currently?”

“Well, no.  He was with a group of friends, it was a karaoke bar.” 

Uruha nodded slowly, now understanding that this was likely a Reita flight of fantasy.  ‘He probably didn’t see Ruki at all’ he thought, feeling a twinge of pity for his friend who obviously was still not over the relationship that had consumed much of his twenties.

“How do you know they weren’t a band?  They could have been bandmates?”

“Well… uh no.  They were from Family Mart, they had those shirts on, you know?”

“Ruki too?”

“Yeah, Ruki too…”

“So, let me get this straight.”  Uruha lit another cigarette, and inhaled deeply in advance of offering his summation of what Reita had told him.  “Ruki works in a convenience store and you saw him and his colleagues in a karaoke bar, but although you didn’t talk to him you’ve assumed he wants to join DCT and that’s going to _bring the band back together_?  Please Rei, you’ve lost your mind.  One-man-en says it wasn’t him.”

“It was him, I am sure of it.  And he saw me, Uruha, he recognised me, I just know it.”

“Ok, maybe it was.  But I’m pretty sure that if he had wanted to be involved with us now that we’re back in Japan, he would have called or reached out or something. You’ve got to remember Rei, in his eyes it wasn’t just us moving on from VK, it was you moving on from him…”

Reita’s phone rang, cutting the conversation dead before he had any chance to think on Uruha’s words.  It was Ana, DCT’s assistant and she didn’t have any good news.  He nodded throughout the brief conversation, and thanked her warmly at the end before hanging up the call.  In one gulp he finished his own coffee and stood up.

“Where are you going?”  Uruha asked.

“The club couldn’t tell her anything, so I’m going to find him myself.”  He pulled on his jacket and straightened his baseball cap, finally pulling a white mask over the lower part of his face. 

“You’re mad.  Do you have any idea how many convenience stores there are in this city?”

“Maybe I am mad Uruha, but I let him leave me once before and I sure as hell am not going to let him escape a second time.  Tell the others, I’m going to track down our new singer.”

 

_Do you have any idea how many convenience stores there are in this city?_

Uruha’s words now hung very heavy in his ears, being monotonously drowned out by that damn welcome jingle every time he entered or left a store.  It was mocking him now, that tune; store after store he had asked if they had a Matsumoto working there and not one of them had answered in the affirmative.  The enthusiasm with which he had left the coffee shop that lunchtime had long since waned.  The sense of rejection that came every time he thought ‘the next store… the next… it’ll be the next…’ and it never was, had won for the day. 

He decided to head home, to regroup his thoughts and plan a different strategy.  There must be a head office, or somewhere maybe that he could make a mock complaint or a fake inquiry about a staff member?  Someway he could find out the whereabouts of the elusive singer that didn’t involve walking miles around central Tokyo.

Plus, he was truly sick to death of that jingle.  How the staff who worked in those stores could bear it, he couldn’t comprehend.  The next convenience store that he came across that wasn’t Family Mart was where he stopped to buy a can of beer for the taxi ride home.  He went in and made a sharp left, heading for the back of the store where the refrigerated section was.  He stood for a moment, perusing the selection, deciding which brand to buy when one of the staff came out of the store room with a tall trolley full of trays of fresh onigiri.  He was wheeling them slowly backwards, and as he looked over his shoulder to make sure that he didn’t walk into anyone he caught Reita’s eye and briefly stopped before pushing past the bassist.

 “What do you want, Reita?” Ruki didn’t look up from his work, carefully taking the onigiri out of the plastic tray 3 at a time and stacking them into the display case.

“I’ve been looking for you.”

“I know. A couple of friends from my old company called to say someone had been asking after me.”

“Your _old_ company?”

“Yeah, I left. The other night was my leaving party.”  He stopped for a moment and addressed the onigiri, rather than look at Reita.  “Why am I even telling you this?”

“I couldn’t believe it when I saw you, it’s been so long Taka.  Too long…”

A quiet growl from the shop assistant as he lined up the last of the fresh rice balls.  “I’m busy, I don’t have time for this.  If you’ll excuse me…”  he wheeled the now empty trays back past Reita and disappeared through the swing door into the store room. 

For a second Reita was stunned, both at Ruki’s abruptness and how incredibly _good_ he looked with his hair shorter than Reita had ever seen and softly cropped into the back of his neck.

After a moment, the rear door of the beer fridge Reita was standing in front of opened and Ruki was there again, this time sliding fresh cans of beer into the empty rows.  Reita opened the fridge door, trying to catch his eye through the rows of cans.

“I need to talk to you, things were never right after you left.” 

He finished filling up the row that Reita was using to peer through, making the bassist move to his left to the next empty row.  He didn’t say anything, continuing instead to glare at Reita through the cans.

“Reita, it’s been years.  Why would you show up now and start dredging up all that shit from the past? You moved on, I got it OK?  Well, guess what _I_ moved on too.”

“You don’t drum anymore?”

Ruki stared at him from behind the beer cans and slammed the rear door closed, appearing at the store room door once more.  He held up his left arm, and pulled back the long tight sleeve of the shirt he was wearing under his uniform jacket.  His wrist and forearm were covered in a support bandage, which he pulled off to reveal a faded but substantial scar snaking the full length of his lower arm.  There had been some serious stitching near his elbow and what looked like maybe a plate and pins.  Reita did not expect the scar, even less than he expected to see the tattoos on skin that he had only known as pale and ink free.  In beautiful gothic script, following the line of the scar it said _“Overcome All Difficulties”_.

“Compound fracture radius, elbow dislocated, two thirds of all carpal and metacarpal bones crushed, extensive nerve damage and weak ligaments for life.”  He quickly put the support bandage back on and pulled down his sleeve.  “So no, I don’t drum any more.  I stack shelves, and I serve katsu and cigarettes and I go home and watch TV with my dog”.

“What time do you finish?”

“No Reita.”

“What time?”

Ruki grabbed Reita and pulled him awkwardly through the store room door into the small and quiet warehouse area, pinning him against the back of the beer fridges that he was filling moments before, leaning against Reita’s chest with his good arm.

“Leave me alone Reita.  Walk out of this store and forget you ever saw me again.  Go back to your band and your fans and your life and leave me the fuck alone.”

His voice slipped dangerously quiet and low as he grabbed Reita’s lapels, standing on tiptoes to stare him out eye-to-eye.  “I am in a good place now, Akira.  I have a life and for a long time I nearly didn’t.  So please, just go.”

Reita could not say a word.  He wasn’t scared, or shocked – he was _transfixed!_ Being so close to Ruki after all those years was overwhelming, and it clawed at something deep inside of him.  The spark of attraction was absolutely, and massively still there.  He wanted to know the reasons behind the broken arm, he wanted to know about the tattoos, he wanted to understand what had happened in Ruki’s life that had brought him to this place. He wasn’t drumming but was he still writing?  Was he still drawing? 

_If I kissed him, would he kiss me back?_

Reita was not expecting that thought to be there, it stepped out confidently into his conscious brain from somewhere between his memories and the sensory nerves that were tingling along the back of his neck.  He could see the fire in Ruki’s eyes and could feel the fire beginning to spark in the bottom of his stomach – if he stayed here any longer this close to Ruki he was sure he would start to get aroused.

“OK, I’ll go.  But I will be back.”   Ruki relaxed his grip on Reita’s lapels and let his hands drop limply to his sides, watching the other man walk through the store to pay for his beer and then leave.

“Don’t bother…” he said half heartedly to the swinging store room door.  All of his fight had gone and he leant against the stock room wall, feeling the cold brick behind him, his breathing coming in staccato breaths, shallow and ragged.  His palms were sweaty and he could feel his heart pounding in his chest. 

After a long moment of composure, making sure his sleeves were properly pulled down, his jacket was neat and his name badge was straight, he walked back out into the store and up to the counter where his colleague handed him a card.

“The guy in the leather jacket said to give this to you”.

Ruki took it and turned it over in his fingers.  Did he want Reita back in his life?  The pain that he had felt when Reita had discarded him, was almost as intense as the love that preceded it. 

He screwed the card up and dropped it in the bin.

“Next customer please.”


	9. The Confession

Three days had passed since Reita had walked into the store, three days that had kept Ruki on edge for his entire shift.  He found himself spending as much time as he could doing count after count in the store room and the times that he had no choice but to be in the store, he watched the doors like a hawk. 

It was just after six am on a cool Thursday morning.  The sun had been up for an hour or more, but there was still that early morning crispness in the air as Ruki cycled haphazardly home from his night shift.  His phone in one hand, the other barely resting on the handlebars of his bicycle and smoking a cigarette all at the same time caused him to weave gently across the pavement from left to right.

The usual news stories filled his daily home-page: politics, sports, popular media.  He scrolled through them absentmindedly, nothing really catching his attention long enough to warrant opening a link and reading a full story.  His mind was preoccupied still thinking about Reita.  Up until this point he had resisted delving into Reita’s public past but tired, hungry and drained from close to 72 hours straight of anxiety as he approached the bicycle compound at his building he allowed his thumb to type three letters into an internet search and press “find”.

_D C T_

Unable to put his bike away properly with one hand, he popped his phone in his back pocket whilst the page loaded and slowly trudged up the stairs to his tiny second floor apartment pulling a bunch of keys out in readiness.  He had no idea that he had been followed, the red car hanging back a hundred meters or so until now, passed slowly by.  The driver turning his head to watch the small, dark-haired man enter the second apartment along.

The second his key hit the first lock, there was a terrible commotion from the other side of the door, frantic scratching and high-pitched excited barking.  He entered to the usual frantic greeting from Koron, his chihuahua.  He took his phone from his pocket and laid it with his keys on the floor next to the small dog who was demanding attention.

“Hello Koron, I’m home.”  He rubbed the little dog’s head briefly before scooping him up and taking him into the main living room, his phone forgotten for a moment whilst he enjoyed the morning licks and kisses from the pup, he was yet to see the first news story regarding his old bandmates. 

_Is this the end for DCT?_

“Did you miss me?  Did you miss me..?”  He squatted next to the food bowl and dropped a handful of biscuits in for the chihuahua, watching him lovingly devour the food.  Once happy that the dog was full and fed, he stood up and pulled off his work uniform and the slim fitted long sleeve he always wore underneath to cover his tattoos.  He folded both items of clothing and lay them over the back of the chair, picking up a loose long-sleeved black sweatshirt to cover up with.  The dog watched him open the sliding door to the tiny balcony and followed just to the doorway – he was well trained and knew not to go out onto the narrow ledge.  Ruki ran his hand along the top of his futon that had been hung outside all night.  It was still a little damp, and knowing that the early morning sunshine would soon dry it out he left it outside. 

 

Something caught his eye, there was a terribly conspicuous red Mustang parked at the end of his street.  He didn’t recognise the car, and for a long time he had made it his business to know every vehicle that frequented both his and the adjacent blocks of apartments.  Watanabe’s warning had been a constant in his life for a long time, _“The boss never forgets…”_

There was only one person he could ever have imagined driving that type of car.  He sighed angrily and slammed the balcony door shut.  Koron jumped back at the sudden noise and looked at Ruki curiously with wide, dark eyes.

“Come on, let’s take you for your walk.”  He attached the lead to Koron’s little collar and picking up both his phone and keys lead the pup back down the outside stairs and out into the now warming early morning sunshine.

At the end of the street, the red car waited for him to walk nearly out of sight before beginning to slowly follow him once more. 

 

It was always quiet in the park this time of day and Ruki had no issues with letting Koron off his lead to wander off on his own, sniffing every tree, bench and rubbish bin as he went.  It wasn’t until this point that he finally resumed looking at his phone.  The page he’d loaded and forgotten about was still there on his browser, his eyes opened wide at the new to him, but for the rest of the world - old news.

Singer leaves.  Tour cancelled.  Indefinite hiatus.  

“Son of a bitch… So, he broke the band up…”  He scrolled further down the article to a picture of the four remaining members obviously at a press conference.  The three he knew all looked tired and dejected, heads bowed at the shame of having to cancel dates and plans.  The one he didn’t know, their replacement drummer he assumed, was the only one seemingly talking to the press. 

The picture said it all and he closed the browser and slid the phone into his back pocket, deep in thought.    

“Cute dog…”

“Thanks…” he replied before realising who it was.  He looked over to the park entrance and saw the red Mustang parked there.  “Why are you following me Reita?  Didn’t I tell you other day to leave me alone.”

“Taka, just listen to me.”

“Why should I?  The last time I just listened to you, you told me I had no ambition and was a delusional idiot, living in a VK fantasy world”

Koron trotted over, suspicious of the newcomer.  He didn’t recognise this man’s smell and began to sniff at his shoes inquisitively.  Reita crouched down and started to fuss the little dog, scratching his ears and fluffing up the long hair between them into a tiny mohawk.

“You know Yune left?”

“Yes, I heard,” he said, choosing not to mention that he had only just heard it thirty seconds previously.

“When I saw you singing the other night I was blown away.”  Reita began to feel the first flush of heat on his cheeks, suddenly embarrassed at sharing his true feelings with Ruki. “You were incredible.  I never knew you could sing like that.  Your voice… it’s beautiful.”

Ruki shrugged, reaching down to bundle Koron up into his arms.  He frowned at the make-shift ‘Reita’ hairstyling and smoothed Koron’s tufty fur down.  “It is what it is.”

“Come back to DCT, sing for us.  You are the frontman we should have had but never did.  I can see that now. The fans loved you, they’ll love you even more if you’re up front…”

_Where you belong._

He laughed, bringing the dog up to his face and allowing just a tiny lick of his nose.  “I can’t sing for you, Aki.  I’m the Deputy Shift Floor Manager in a Lawson convenience store.  I don’t have any fans left, I can’t bring anything to your band.”  He hugged Koron tight to his chest, trying to ignore the lump forming in his throat.  “I’m a different person now, I’m not _that_ Ruki.”

“And I’m not _that_ Reita either.  I was scared Taka, it all seemed like it was getting out of control… the record company… the fans… meeting both of their expectations.  We had to keep doing more and more and pushing it further and further just to keep up!  You knew as well as I did that any day a new band could come along and take everything.  For _those_ girls, it wasn’t about the music, it was just about us… and I didn’t want that for us.  We were a great band, Uruha, Aoi, _you_ … we were so tight, their melodies… your rhythm, your lyrics…”

He reached out to stroke Koron, still in Ruki’s arms.  There was near silence for a moment, with just the small dog’s panting and somewhere across the park a siren.  He couldn’t bear not touching him any longer and gently cupped Ruki’s cheek in his hand.  Had Reita realised what words were about to surface from all those years ago, had his brain known what his heart was about to unleash on him he may have reconsidered this whole plan.  He remembered how Ruki’s face had felt in his hands; some of the softness had gone, but he was undisputedly still Ruki, still Takanori, still the man he craved to be near.  “You deserved so much better.  What we had was so intense, I’d never loved anyone quite like I loved you.  I was stupid back then, scared and jealous… I was an asshole to you.”

Ruki did nothing to move away from the simple touch, allowing the warm fingers to rest against his cheek.  “I haven’t written anything in years…” he mumbled, bowing his head and burying his face into Koron’s fur.  Reita’s hand slid down to his shoulder and squeezed gently for a moment, it was the unspoken notification that he was leaving.  Ruki looked up to see him taking another card out of a silver holder.

“Please…” he held out the card to Ruki.  “Take this.  Think about it.  Our chance to be part of something special again.”

Ruki stared at the card and then stared at Reita.  A lifetime ago, the man in front of him had broken his heart, irreparably he had thought.  For a long time, he had blamed the ensuing downward spiral into gambling and debt onto Reita and the subsequent parting of ways between him and DCT.  The months spent in hospital following his accident had given him the time he had so badly needed to heal, both physically with hours of gruelling physiotherapy and mentally with the support of the nursing staff who actually seemed to care about him.  He had made peace with his Reita-demons on the assumption that he would never see him again.

A return to the music business?  With DCT, his old friends whom he would have given the world for and Reita, his one true love? 

This time though, Reita was making very sure that Ruki had his number.  He slid the card between the dog and the man’s chest before taking a step back and bowing slightly before turning to jog back over to his car.

Koron was tired of being held, especially when there was someone running away who might want to play and be chased!  He wiggled anxiously in Ruki’s arms, too much to keep hold of so he was clipped back on his lead and placed gently on the ground.  Reita’s card dropped onto the grass, face down; he stared at it for the longest of moments. 

_“I’d never loved anyone quite like I loved you.”_

Not once in the five or so years that he and Reita had been more than ‘just friends’ had they ever said that they were in love.  That Reita was always so shy and quick to make a joke of something rather than give his true thoughts and feelings and that Ruki was so deeply convinced that Reita would have no interest in Taka that he kept his heart firmly under lock and key, hidden well behind his costumes and makeup.

This felt different though, maybe it was tiredness from a long night shift but like a switch being flicked inside Ruki’s head he was jolted into action.  He picked the card up off the damp morning grass.  Silver writing – a phone number and an address in Kichijoji - on heavy white card.  The other side a stylish gilt line drawing of a bass guitar.

He slid the card into his back pocket.

“Come on Koron, Daddy’s tired.”


	10. Kichijoji

Ruki typed the number slowly, digit by digit carefully into his phone. He stared at it there on the phone’s screen and openly laughed, making Koron jump off his bed and trot over to where Ruki was sitting cross-legged on his futon.

“You must think I’m mad.” He said, reaching over so that the small dog could lick his hand.  He pressed the green button to make the call.  “What’s the likelihood that he still has the same number after all these……”

“Hello?”

The voice was instantly recognisable.

“Uruha…”

“Uh… who is this?”

“You still have the same phone number.”

Puzzled, Uruha looked down at his phone.  The number wasn’t a known contact, and it wasn’t one that he recognised and he most certainly was not in the habit of giving his number out to just anyone.  Whoever it was calling, he was pretty sure that he didn’t want to know.

“Don’t call this number again. I’m hanging up…”

“Wait!  Don’t hang up! It’s me… _Ruki._ ”

“Ruki?  How’s it going?”

“Good, good… I uh, I heard your song on the TV.”

“And you called to tell me that?  I hear nothing from you in years and then you call me out of the blue to tell me you heard the song I wrote, the song that was number one across Asia for two weeks?  Well, thank you for the update, I really appreciate it.”

“I uh… I saw Reita the other day and it felt odd to speak to him and not you.  I guess I just wanted to say hello and maybe see if we could meet up one time for a drink or something.”

“Sure Ruki, whatever you want.”

A long silence, Ruki not knowing what to say, Uruha still surprised at the sudden call.

“I’m sorry about DCT… Yune and everything… what happened?”

“Well… I guess you were right all along, Ruki.  Guys like us, we got into it for the aesthetic as well as the music.  It didn’t really make sense to us without full hair and makeup.  We all figured that out, but Yune… he didn’t want that so he left.”

“What’s Kai like?  Is he a good drummer?”

“He’s better than you were, if that’s what you’re asking.  He’s a good guy, got a wife and a kid.  You’d like him I think.”

The jibe was enough to relax Ruki tenfold.  His and Uruha’s relationship had always been based around low level insults directed towards each other and the fact that it was still there comforted him immensely.

“And you?”

“You know me Ruki, if it doesn’t have strings and an amplifier I’m not interested.  There’s been people but no one special yet.”  A long contemplative silence, and then “Aoi’s got two boys now – did you know?  He’s not with their mother any more so… it’s all a little complicated.”

Ruki nodded on the other end of the phone, he understood what _complicated_ meant in Uruha and Aoi’s world.  It had made his and Reita’s stop-start relationship look positively easy in comparison.

“And…..?”

“ _He_ is single,” he paused for a moment, “You really _did_ just call me to find out if Reita has someone in his life, didn’t you?  My god… It’s like being seventeen again.” 

 

Ruki pulled the card out once more, it had become ragged around the edges over the past few days due to being in and out of his wallet a thousand times.  Each time he had had an argument with himself about should he call, should he let Reita back into his life? And each time the resolve that he had steadfastly stuck by over the years since leaving DCT began to wane a little.  And as that resolve lessened, the need not just to speak to Reita but to see him grew and grew.

He checked the address again and looked up at the building in front of him. There was no doubt that this was Reita’s home, the name was neatly positioned by the entrance to the block, “Luce”.  To his　surprise, the door slid open without any external access control and he hesitantly went into the lobby.  To his right, the post boxes for each apartment and he scanned them quickly until he saw the familiar kanji for the bassist “寿松木”.  He hadn’t ever known anyone to spell _Suzuki_ with those kanji before, and it was in part the shared kanji with his own name that had first sparked conversation and friendship all those years before back in middle school.

9th floor, penthouse.

 _Maybe I should have arranged this in advance_ he thought, his finger hesitating over the doorbell next to the number 9. _But I’m here now._

He pressed it and waited.

A crackle of the speaker, a feint buzzing noise and then nothing.  No greeting, no hello, nothing.  For a moment he felt suddenly very conspicuous and a little embarrassed that he had made the two-hour trek from his own suburb in the south of the city to Kichijoji where he had no chance of ever being able to afford to live.  He was in two minds as to whether he should press it again or just cut his losses and leave, when the lift door opened and Reita burst out into the foyer wearing a white vest, long black cargo shorts and bright red sports socks.

“W-where are your shoes?” Ruki spluttered, not knowing what else to say.  He hadn’t expected a personal welcome.

He unlocked the inner security door and held it open, “I’m… You’re… Taka, you’re here!  Please, come inside.”

They rode the lift up to the top floor in silence, and upon opening it was clear to see Reita had left in a hurry – the apartment door was still flung wide open and the noise of the TV was clearly heard in the hallway.  He ushered Ruki inside and closed the door.  The genkan was a mess of shoes as it always had been anywhere that Reita had ever lived; he would prise them off with the other foot one at a time and leave them wherever they fell.  Ruki placed his boots neatly next to each other and stepped up into the apartment through the open screen door. 

Reita’s apartment, in comparison to the one room (+ tiny kitchen and bathroom) that Ruki had lived in ever since he’d left home, was immense. It was the whole top floor of the building and was beautifully decorated and elegantly simple.  Brushed stainless steel kitchen units, a full wall of _washi_ screen doors to the other rooms and not just a balcony, but an actual terrace with furniture and what looked like a BBQ under a cover.  The living area was down three steps from the kitchen, and housed the largest television that Ruki had ever seen along with the most comfortable looking, cushion strewn sofa.  On the wall were two framed discs, the album they had been recording when he had left DCT had gone gold a year after the initial release but in his stubborn pig-headedness he had signed away any rights that he might have had to royalties as a signal that he wanted nothing more to do with the band.

“Can I get you a drink or something?”  Reita asked, “Tea, coffee… beer?”

“Tea would be great,” he replied, walking over to the framed discs and reading the small plaques beneath them.  “I don’t really drink anymore.”  The first disc certainly was for the album – _“You”_ , the second for writing credits for a song that he didn’t know – “抜けた気味”

“ _The Feeling of Being Missed?”_ Ruki said, raising an eyebrow at the man next to him who now passed a cold glass of barley-tea to him.  “Who did you think was missing you when you wrote that?”

Reita smiled a little and scratched the back of his head, “Maybe it was me doing the missing.”  He hopped down the steps to the living area and turned the sound down on the TV.  “Come in Taka, you look really fucking awkward standing up there.”

Hesitantly Ruki did as instructed, the further into the apartment he went, the further from the door and his escape route he became not to mention the closer to Reita.  He was beckoned towards the sofa where Reita had now re-taken the seat he must have been in before Ruki had arrived.  Sitting down only confirmed that it _was_ the most comfortable sofa he’d ever known.

“I’m glad you came,” Reita broke the ice, smiling his warm crinkly-eye smile.  “I wanted to call you but didn’t want you to think I was a harassing jerk.”

“I’ve been on nights this week so…” he trailed off, sipping his barley tea.  “Do you mind if I take this off?”  He stopped halfway through taking his jacket off, waiting for Reita’s answer, staring at him curiously.

“Sure! Yeah, no problem. Here… let me…” He leapt up again, helping Ruki out of the jacket and whisking it away to be hung in a cupboard out in the genkan.  He stopped at the top of the steps, and let out a low whistle.  As it was a warmer day, and as Ruki was not at work he was just wearing a T-shirt giving Reita a more complete view of the black ink covering his arms.

“You’ve really got some tattoos, haven’t you?”

“Mmm?  Yeah. Long story.” He leant forwards, putting the now empty glass on the table in front of him and watching Reita re-take his place at the other end.  “So, I’ve thought about your offer and… joining your band would be difficult for me.  And I think it would make things difficult for the others too, so it’s better if I don’t.”

“Taka… It’s barely been a week.  Why don’t you come down to the studio, I’ll get the others out of hibernation and we could just jam a little, see how it feels?  I think you’re making a rash decision… who wouldn’t want to be in a band rather than working in a convenience store…”  Reita scooted over to sit on the next closest cushion.

“You haven’t got the feintest idea of what you’re asking me, Aki.”  Ruki ran both hands through his hair, the simple gesture of raising his arms up exposing even more intricate ink work on his upper arms.

“Why won’t you even give it a try?  Is it the band? Is it _me_?”  Reita slid down off the sofa seat to kneel at Ruki’s feet. Looking up at Ruki through his long blonde fringe, his soft brown eyes barely visible broke through Ruki’s temporarily reinforced shell and hit him deep in the centre of his stomach. It lurched violently, a surge of adrenaline shot into his bloodstream and he felt his heartbeat go up a level.

“I just can’t.  End of discussion.”  He stood up to leave, but Reita grabbed his hand and pulled him back down to sitting before standing up himself.

“No, you are not leaving here until you tell me.”

“Tell you what?”

“What it is that you’re hiding!  I can see it all over your face, Taka.  Why can’t you sing for us?  Why are you covered in tattoos?  Why are you working in a convenience store?  Why do you still live in that tiny apartment?”  He paced the living room impatiently, “The man I knew was so fucking talented the ideas sparked off him like _pokamono_ fireworks. What happened to you, Taka?  What happened to _Ruki_?”

Ruki stood up once more, this time determined to leave.  He made it as far as the top of the kitchen steps before Reita had caught him, grabbing both arms and pinning him to the refrigerator door.

“I got in trouble with the wrong people, OK?  I lost everything gambling!  I lost my band, my friends, _all_ of my money and was lucky to get out of it with just a broken arm.”  He reached up between Reita’s arms and quickly thrust both elbows down into Reita’s forearms making him completely lose his grip.  “I can _never_ go back to being Ruki!  Oh what’s the point, you’ll never understand.”

He pushed past Reita and had one hand on the door when he was spun around and before he knew what was happening, Reita was there. Holding him close, kissing him.  Ruki hadn’t been kissed like that in years; without saying a word he kissed back, desperately clawing at the bottom of Reita’s vest to pull it over his head.  They half stumbled, half slid down the steps back to the sofa, Ruki now pulling his own T-shirt off quickly and discarding it on the floor.  Reita unbuttoned his shorts, they fell to the floor and he was then naked except for his red socks.

If Reita had been surprised by the tattoos, Ruki was as surprised at the changes in Reita’s body.  He’d never cared too much for a muscular physique but he was very _very_ quickly changing his mind.  But this was no time to appreciate just the view, he had never wanted Reita as much as he wanted him in that moment and as if the other could sense it he bundled Ruki up tightly in his arms and kissed him again, laying him down onto the sofa and helping him wiggle free of his own jeans. 

He didn’t immediately rid Ruki of his underwear instead enjoying the feeling of his warm erection through the soft material. Caressing him continually as the kisses became harder, more urgent he pulled Ruki’s shorts to one side and slid his cock out of one leg to give more space for more targeted attention.

Ruki arched his hips upwards, struggling slightly under the weight of Reita leaning above him and awkwardly trying to pull his underwear off.  They managed it between them and within seconds Ruki’s underwear was thrown across the living room, landing just short of the television silently playing in the background.

There was nothing sensual or slow about the sex that followed.  Ruki was ready to be fucked and Reita was there for him in this, his five minutes of need.  He thrust hard into Ruki, over and over again, with his hand giving firm and quick pressure around his cock and within moments Ruki’s cum was warm on his stomach, his eyes screwed up tightly in pleasure, his lips parted letting out soft moans that pushed Reita over the edge.  He pulled out as he was cumming and it shot all over Ruki’s balls and unfortunately, the sofa beneath them.

He cursed under his breath and jumped up, trotting naked over to the kitchen fetching a roll of kitchen towel.  He tore a couple of sheets off and neatly wiped the mess off the sofa, then tossing the full roll to Ruki to clean his stomach Reita flopped uselessly down onto the sofa.

“That was unexpected.”  Ruki said quietly, diligently wiping up the remains of his first non-self-administered orgasm in many months.

Reita lay back on the sofa, still naked, still erect (just) and could do nothing to hide the smug grin on his face.

 

It was after 5am when Ruki finally left, the night-shifts taking their toll on his body clock and refusing to let him sleep.  They had talked late into the night, under the cotton covers of Reita’s bed.  They had talked about DCT, the good times and the bad.  The cancelled tour, the aftermath.  NazoNazo, Club SK and Ruki’s own spiral into bad times followed by bad times followed by worse.  They had fucked some more, Reita giving him the most delicious oral and making him not want to ever leave that bed.  But responsibility in the shape of 3 kilos of black and tan long haired chihuahua meant he was soon back on the train heading across the city with a growing army of dark suited workers.

Reluctantly, Ruki had given up his contact details and thirty minutes out from Kichijoji, Reita messaged him. 

_Please think about it.  We need you back with us._

He felt an overwhelming sadness as he read the words.  The night of raw passion could only ever be just that, a beautiful, exciting, incredible one-night stand as there was no way he could be involved with DCT in any capacity.  He knew that if he said yes, without a shadow of a doubt, the second he let _Ruki_ back out into the world all hell would break loose.  The life that he had painstakingly put together for himself would be gone, the past would fuck up every inch of everything he knew and this time there would be no second chances and no running away.  He could feel it out there, the past; just waiting somewhere beyond the shadows to break him.

Taka was a safe place to be, Ruki really was not.

_I can’t. Tonight shouldn’t have happened. Please forget about me, Akira._


	11. The Promise

Reita looked at the four faces around the table one by one, all seemingly stunned into silence from the story he had just told them.  Manager, drummer and the two guitarists all taking in the brief history of what had happened to their former member and the apparent death threat that kept him from doing anything other than keeping a very low profile.

Aoi was the first to speak, airing much what the others were thinking.  “Surely it can’t be as bad as that?  He always was a little… dramatic, wasn’t he?”

“Yeah,” Uruha continued, “When I spoke to him on the phone, he didn’t say anything about any gambling debts or anything…”  Across the table, the bassist’s shocked expression made him tail off into silence.  He hadn’t told anyone that Ruki had phoned him.

“You _spoke_ to him? When?!” 

“A couple of weeks ago maybe, he just called me out of the blue.  We spoke for like, twenty minutes or something.”

“Anyone else?”  Reita looked exasperatedly around the table, waiting for another confession of Ruki-contact.

Kai held his hands up when the eyes landed on him, shrugging his shoulders slightly in a ‘I didn’t even know him’ motion.

“Seriously though,” Aoi picked his phone up off the table, “How bad can this _really_ be?”  He quickly typed into his phone, skimming down the returned list of results.  “OK, it’s bad.”

_Yakuza Decapitation in Kabukicho._

He read the story out aloud to the assembled band members.

_The body of Watanabe-gumi boss Tomoki Watanabe was found in the boot of an abandoned car in a Chiba carpark last night.  Following the public inquiry into the vote-rigging and fraud committed by disgraced ex-Diet Member Daichi Sato, the increasingly violent crime wave that has been erupting into the public’s view over the past few weeks between the Watanabe-gumi and the Inagawa-kai seems to have come to it’s bitter end with the death of the former group’s leader.  All known assets of the Watanabe-gumi have been seized under the Proceeds of Crime Act and closed down, including the notorious “Club SK” in Kabukicho and all seven “RR” pachinko halls.  No further arrests have been made and currently the police have not issued a statement about the incident.  As the decapitated head is yet to be recovered, the body will not be released for burial._

“Do you think he did something illegal?”  the manager had made the same internet search as Aoi and was reading another, similar story.  “Maybe he’s wanted by the police?”

“No…” Uruha, shook his head, “He wasn’t the sort.  Seriously, could you imagine Ruki breaking the law?  With that overactive conscience of his?  He doesn’t have it in him to be bad.”

“You can understand it though,” Aoi mused, “If I had a yakuza gang looking for me, I would be out of the country, not just hiding in a convenience store.  He’s got guts to stay in Tokyo.”

Aoi was right, suddenly to Reita it didn’t make any sense.  If things were as bad as Ruki had made out, if he was in the level of danger a mix-up with a yakuza family would suggest, why the hell was he in the same city let alone the same country?

“When was that from Aoi?” he asked quietly, his voice showing the feintest signs of uncertainty.

The guitarist scrolled back up to the top of the article, “Uh… 2011, six years ago.  Surely though, if the boss is dead and no one takes on the name, doesn’t that mean…”

“… all ‘obligations’ are rescinded… the only way to annul a yakuza debt…” Reita said slowly, he felt like his head was spinning now.  The reason Ruki had given for needing to stay hidden, was null and void.  What other reason could there be for him to not re-join DCT now?

“Do you think he knows?”  Uruha took the phone from Aoi, rather than using his own to read the story himself.

“He has a phone; it took you two seconds to find out.  They sell newspapers in convenience stores too, there’s no way he doesn’t know.” 

“Why don’t you call him, Rei?”

“I've tried. He’s blocked my number.”

Kai who had been silent up to this point, shrugged his shoulders and turned to Reita.  “Isn’t it obvious? It’s _you_ Rei, you’re the reason.  From what you’ve all said about him it’s obvious he’s got an ego the size of Saitama.”  Kai couldn’t believe that none of the founding members had figured this out about their former drummer.  It had been obvious to him from the moment he joined, from the research he’d done prior to his try-out and interview, and the hours he had spent practicing their songs and working closely with Ruki’s original rhythms, that the synergy between drums and bass had been all but impossible to replicate without that certain spark that Ruki’s feelings for the bassist had obviously given it.

Reita’s blank expression almost made him laugh, “He quit the band because you dumped him!  I’ve never thought there was anything more to it than that.  Creative differences?  Total bullshit.  Yune was a dick about the image for sure, but Ruki didn’t come across as ever having paid that much attention to him!  From your old work, your old concerts and old photoshoots it’s obvious he did exactly as he liked.”  He got up from his chair and tucked it neatly under the table, walking around behind Reita and resting his hands on the bassist’s shoulders.  “Not being with you obviously meant more to him than not being in the band.”

There was silence around the table as the three founding members of DCT all seemed lost in reflection for a moment.  Uruha was the first to move and reached out for his cigarettes, lighting one quickly but watching the flame from his zippo lighter for a brief moment following.  He inhaled deeply, glancing across at Aoi from the corner of his eye. 

“We should sort something out, sometime.  It’s been shit the last few months, not seeing you guys.  I’ve been working on some new material that I think would suit us.  And, y’know, if Ruki comes back or not it would be good to jam again.”

Kai moved from behind Reita to behind the two guitarists and bent down to fling his arms around both of their shoulders, pulling them close together around him in a sloppy hug. 

“I’ll get some studio time booked,” he glanced at their manager who nodded in agreement, “let’s us four have a bit of a practice and see if _we_ can still hold it together with some of the old songs, and then let’s try to get him in… and see where it goes?  Nothing for sure, but if he’s as good as you’re saying I’m happy to give him a go.  Aoi?  Uruha?  You guys agree?”

The guitarists nodded in unison.

 

It had been close to a month since Ruki’s visit to Kichijoji, and on the surface to any spectator nothing in his life had changed.  He had completed two more weeks of night shifts and then switched to the first of his four weeks on day shifts.  He had changed the in-store branding over from the pink of the late spring ranges to the cooler blues for summer, stocking up on mosquito spray and disposable barbeques.  He had taken Koron to the vet for his annual injections, he had paid a visit to his family home just outside Yokohama (and as usual ignored his father’s obvious dislike of his sub-par career choice and insistence that he join the family business along with his elder brother) and he had been to the shrine twice, once to pray for Koron’s vet’s bill to not be too large and once to pray for relief from the constant thoughts of Reita that plagued his every waking hour.

He felt as if the blonde was haunting him.  Every day it seemed there would be a reminder of either Reita or DCT - a customer in an old band T-shirt, an advert on TV with a sporty red car, a reference to Kichijoji.  He had blocked Reita’s number, Uruha’s too just in case and refused to answer the phone to any number that he didn’t recognise.

There was no way he was going to let Reita back into his life; he did not trust himself in the slightest to not fall straight back in love with him in an instant and when inevitably Reita realised that actually, Takanori Matsumoto was quite an unremarkable person to be around, he would leave him all over again and Ruki _knew_ that this time the damage would be irreparable.

However, their brief meeting had had one significant other change on Ruki: he had started to write again.  He had bought a notebook home from the shop and stared at it now, reading back what he had written.

_I want to be strong, I wish for this because my future blossoms with you._

He frowned, scribbling out the words.  There was Reita _again_ , coming through in his musings.  He crossed out the ‘with you’ part and stared at the page again,  “Because my future blossoms…  because… my… future…”  No, he couldn’t think of anything suitable to fit in the place of the deleted words.  His glance gradually turned towards the dog asleep on the futon next to him, the peaceful regularity of his tiny chest rising and falling and then finally to stare out of the glass door at the blue sky. 

A sudden knock at the door woke the dog in an instant and he popped up off the futon in a flash and ran over to the closed living room door, barking as loudly and ferociously as he could to warn off whoever might be knocking.  Ruki got up himself much more slowly than the dog and threw his pen down in disgust on top of the pad. 

“I’ll deal with _you_ later,” he said to the words he had written.  “Koron! Move..!” He tried unsuccessfully to manoeuvre himself out of the living room and into the small kitchen area that lead to the genkan and front door without letting the dog out too.  Koron tore over to the entrance and in a moment of sheer distraction, as he picked the dog up, he opened the front door without checking to see who was there.

As the door swung open outwards, he realised what he had done and a brief moment of panic hit him until he saw the instantly recognised beaten-up black and white trainers of Reita.  Ruki straightened up, dog under his arm and reached out to pull the door closed in front of Reita.  But Reita had anticipated this and quickly stepped forwards into the open doorway, blocking Ruki from shutting him out.

“You lied, Taka.”

“Who do you think you are,” he started angrily, “You can’t just barge into people’s homes and accuse them of shit.  Anyway, I didn’t lie to you.”

Reita stepped further in and closed the door behind him, causing Ruki to back up onto the genkan step still holding the dog.  The few centimetres of added height put him at direct level with Reita’s eyeline and they both glared at each other without saying a word.

“You knew damn well that any yakuza business that you were involved in was history the moment the boss died.  And I get it, it must have fucked with your head for a long time, but I want to know the real reason why you won’t sing for DCT.”

He backed away further into the tiny kitchen area, hiding behind the small dog clutched close to his chest.  “I’ve got nothing to say to you.”

“Taka…”

“No!”

Exasperated now, Reita couldn’t help but raise his voice.  “Dammit Taka, why won’t you come back?!”

Ruki was not keen on being shouted at in his own home, and he too raised his voice making Koron squirm in his arms.  “Because the only reason I had to stay away from DCT was because I couldn’t bear to be near you!”  He bent down to rest Koron on the floor and then straightened up to say, “And now I feel like I can’t bear to be away from you, Akira.  I… I just don’t know how to deal with those feelings again!”

“I feel it too!  I _never_ stopped regretting the way I treated you back then!  I was a selfish, insecure idiot. I hated sharing you with those girls, but I never felt like I was enough of a man to give you everything you needed!”  He dropped to his knees, awkwardly kneeling on the row of shoes neatly positioned in the entrance way.  “I’ve changed, I’ve grown up.  I’m ready to be the man you deserve.  Please Taka, please give me a second chance.”

His mind was racing, a thousand thoughts a minute coming thick and fast.  What would be the point of saying no? Reita would hound him, he was sure.  But if he said yes?  Could he do it?  Could he be RUKI again?

Ruki crouched down, once again at eye level.  He gently raised Reita’s face by the chin and stared at him intently.  He had changed, this was true.  His face was a little more worn, and a little more chiselled than it had been but there was still that gentle softness in his eyes that had captured Ruki’s heart back in high-school.

“Do you mean it?”

“I mean it.  Can’t you see how much I love you?”

“Promise me,” Ruki grasped Reita’s face in both his hands and stared at him squarely in the eyes.  “Promise me that this time it will be different.”

“I promise”, he said without hesitation.

“OK.”

“And will you sing?”

“I’ll do my best.”

 

_Four months later_

The background noise was deafening, but in those few brief moments before all hell broke loose Ruki could only think about the feeling of Reita’s arm around his shoulders from one side and Uruha’s arm from the other.  The five men huddled in a circle, lit only by the single light of a staff member’s torch prepared themselves for their first outing as a band. 

Roused and ready to go, with Kai, Aoi and Uruha already in their places on the stage, Reita flashed his proudest grin at Ruki and gave him a lingering kiss on the lips. 

"Do you hear that?  They're ready for you."  He winked before striding purposefully out onto the stage.

It was then that Ruki realised the crowd cheering had changed to chanting, his name. Over and over again.

_RU-KI_

_RU-KI_

_RU-KI_

And then it was just him, Takanori Matsumoto, ex-drummer, ex-host, failed-yakuza-blackmailer, ex-convenience store deputy shift floor manager; he grasped the microphone tightly in his hand and took a deep breath before strutting, proudly, defiantly, confidently out onto the stage.

 

END


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